Harry Potter and the Rising of the Dark
by Meta4
Summary: With Albus Dumbledore's disappearance and an unusually severe snowfall, the usual heroes (with a couple of additions) must see beyond the petty rivalry in school to combat the greatest ever threat both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. (slash)
1. Meet the arseholes

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER ONE:: Meet the arseholes.  
  
Time does stuff to you physically, mentally and emotionally. Hindsight, always being as damningly crystal clear as it is, allows me to recall with rather embarrassing detail just how much of a shit I was.  
  
In my defense, though, even now I can place a fair amount of blame for my attitude on my parents. No - really I can! My father was a businessman and a very dispassionate and unscrupulous one at that. If he could make a fast buck whilst cutting corners, exploiting people and generally screwing others out of their money, he would. And, if "credit" is the right thing to give him, he was very, very effective at it. I would normally say "good", but that word deserves no place in the same sentence when referring to good old dad without an appropriate negative being included.  
  
My mum? Well, she... She was blond, had big tits and would shag my dad as long as the credit cards kept coming. She was sleeping around. He was sleeping around. She knew he was, but as long as the money kept flowing, she couldn't care less. He knew she was, but as long as there was food on the table and a cunt for him to fuck at his whim he didn't give a monkey's. It was a truly deep and caring relationship they shared.  
  
Yeah, right.  
  
As you can imagine, this loving, morally fortified background provided an ideal environment in which to bring up a child. Me. Liam Blackdon, at your service.  
  
I was a fuckwit. What's more, not only did I know I was a fuckwit, but I loved and exploited the fact. You see, I wasn't exactly the most heavily built lad and so, by the age of twelve, I had learnt to make up for this lack of physical prowess with my wits and a sharp tongue. I was known in practically every police station in south Derbyshire, mainly for petty theft, joyriding, vandalism and miscellaneous breaches of the peace. However, thanks to the many Damoclean swords of blackmail Daddy had hanging over the majority of anybody who was anybody, including assorted law enforcement officers, council members, Customs and Excise, Inland Revenue staff and various other government and military personnel, our family was quite firmly in the "untouchables" section. Carte blanche for me, then.  
  
As my body tried to keep pace with my mind, I suddenly twigged that I'm also good looking and again, like any good shit would, I exploited and used that fact to my advantage. Blond hair tied back in a short-ish pony-tail, grey eyes, tight bod and a dick I'm certainly not ashamed of simply added to my impertinence and self-assurance.  
  
By the age of fifteen, I was a living, breathing nightmare. Mum and dad knew it. I knew it. So Dad treated this "problem" in exactly the same way that he treated any other problem. Throw money at it.  
  
Now I'm not talking tens, or hundreds here. Not even thousands. Tens of thousands of pounds were shoved in my direction at obscenely regular intervals on the condition that I stayed out of my Dad's life and caused him as little trouble as possible.  
  
It's amazing what happens when cash flows through your fingers like water. You suddenly gain "friends" of all sorts. Chuck someone five hundred quid and you'd be amazed what they're willing to do for you. Chuck the right person four figures and they'll do anything at all - not the scenario you really want when the guy conducting that particular orchestra is a fifteen-year-old who's two sandwiches short of a picnic.  
  
One person managed to change all of this, however.  
  
The fateful night when this particular chain of events began was a clear, frosty December evening. Mum was out with one of her boyfriends (for the third night in a row), Dad was out of the country on business and so I could do whatever I wanted. After a quite literally riotous evening with a couple of "mates" I ended up absolutely thrashing the crap out of a "borrowed" Audi S3 as the local police decided they wanted to talk to me.  
  
I can't be sure exactly why they felt obliged to have a little chat but my feeling is it may well have been to do with the fact that I was doing over a hundred miles an hour through Derby city centre, chasing some poor fucker who'd mistakenly swerved in front of me at the previous roundabout.  
  
It would appear that my rate of progress displeased the law enforcement officers and they wanted to let me know. The fact that I was fifteen and driving at over twice the speed limit in a stolen car would have done nothing to help an already helpless situation. Having evaluated this, I did what any other unhinged, moral-less idiot would have done and allowed as many horses as the turbocharged engine could deliver make their way unhindered to the four wheels of the vehicle.  
  
I zoomed in and out of traffic, the tyres being almost torn from the rims as I hurled the car round impossibly tight corners, the only things stopping me from obliterating myself or some poor innocent pedestrian being some very clever electronics and sheer dumb luck.  
  
I exited the city centre and dropped onto the A38, red-lining the Audi before each gear shift. 89 miles an hour in second, a dip of the clutch and a chirrup from the waste gates later and up to 125 in third, then a hundred and fifty-something in fourth and then hard on the brakes as I cut across two lanes of traffic out on to the exit I wanted and into the countryside.  
  
The police Volvo had just about managed to keep sight of me, blue lights flashing, but the Audi had the same power with half the weight and a driver with no instinct of self preservation at the wheel. Within another couple of minutes, the police were nowhere to be seen. I didn't ease off, though - I was enjoying the adrenaline rush far too much. Alternating between second and third gear, I pushed the little S3 round the country lanes, not giving the slightest thought to the potential of a deer leaping out from the undergrowth or another car coming in the opposite direction.  
  
Strangely, even if I had been anticipating a deer or another car, it could not have prepared me for what was about to happen. I rounded a sharp left-hander, tyres making their protests known as the traction control fought to keep the car going in roughly the right direction. Corner clear, I floored it down the straight grinning insanely at the sound of the screaming engine and roaring wind.  
  
Then it happened. Something flew out of the forest to the right of me at about car roof height and, inevitably, we connected with a sickening crunch. The front windscreen crazy paved immediately and I stamped on the brakes, swearing loudly.  
  
I tore off my seat belt, fought the door open and got out to assess the damage.  
  
The front of the roof had been hit with such force that it had been driven back a good couple of inches, allowing for a fist-sized gap between it and the top of the windscreen. Marks that looked as if the vehicle had had a flame thrower run from the dent at the front over the entire roof adorned the recently flawless banana-yellow paint job. This pissed me off as the S3 was well fun to drive and I figured I could've got at least another few days out of it. Whatever had done this to "my" car was gonna pay.  
  
I slammed the door and walked, seething with rage, back down the road. The night was crystal clear allowing the moon to cast a sharp white light over everything, including a smallish black mound in the middle of the road. I increased my walk to a jog until a reached whatever it was I'd hit.  
  
Initially I couldn't work out what it was until I rolled it over. I gasped as I realised it was a kid a little younger than myself. He was wearing a long black cloak held together by a clasp at the neck and clutching, of all things, a broomstick.  
  
I swallowed, initially feeling sorry for having hit him but almost immediately the dominant "shithead" part of my mind overruled the sorrow, turning it to satisfaction. 'Little fucker,' I thought. 'Leaped out in front of my car, caused a couple of grand's worth of damage and now he's paid. All settled then.'  
  
As you can see, I was a perfectly pleasant, rational person.  
  
I stood up, swore at the mass of flesh and cloak once more and turned back towards my car. As I turned, I was faced by another cloaked figure, silhouetted by the moonlight. Before I could do anything, the Halloween throwback pulled something (at the time I thought it was a gun) from its cloak, pointed it directly at me and uttered something in a voice that chilled me to the bone.   
  
Almost immediately, it felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. Winded, I staggered backwards and tripped over the kid I'd left in the middle of the road. Dazed and confused, it took me a second to summon the power to get up again. As I sat up, the cloaked figure who was now approaching stumbled mid stride as if they'd suddenly lost all conviction in what they were doing, paused for a moment and then ran off into the woods.  
  
If this wasn't enough, I felt the mass under me suddenly cough and splutter. The little shit was alive! And, just to really make my night, my ears just caught the sound of a police siren in the distance. I staggered up, looking round a couple of times until my eyes focused on the tail lights of the car.  
  
"Th... Thanks," came a weak voice.  
  
I spun round again. The kid was half sat up, propping himself on his elbows and looking straight at me.  
  
Oh fuck. He was alive and he'd seen me. And the police were coming. Hit and run. Even my dad couldn't get me out of that one. I reasoned that the only way I had any vague chance of getting out of this one was to take this little pain in the arse with me before the police arrived. In one fell swoop I picked him and his broom up and trotted as fast as I could back to the car. I chucked him into the back seat and sat myself into the front. Putting my feet up against the windscreen I pushed with all my might, popping it out onto the bonnet with a crunch. Thankfully the engine struck up as soon as I touched the key. I slammed it into first, dumped the clutch and sped off deeper into the countryside, cursing as the cold wind streamed through the orifice left by the absent windshield and stung my eyes.  
  
As we drove, I alternated between watching the road and the rear-view mirror. My passenger looked very scared, but was keeping quiet. We weren't a million miles away from my house and hence, not having caught sight of a police car for a while, decided to head for home.  
  
I pulled into our lane and pressed the button to open the gates, drove down the drive and abandoned the car round the back of the house. I got out, flipped the seat forward and frog-marched cloak-boy into the deserted kitchen, practically throwing him into a chair as I turned and dug a couple of cans of Coke out of the fridge.  
  
I pulled the tab and downed half of the can in one go before I turned to the kid who was sitting meekly at the kitchen table. I rolled one over the table to him which he caught and stood upright.  
  
"So, what have you got to say for yourself?"  
  
The kid looked petrified. Good.  
  
"Uh... Th... Thank you?"  
  
"Wrong answer." I slammed the coke down on the table, spun a chair round and sat straddling it, arms rested on its back. "The right answer," I continued, "is 'What do you mean, hit by a car, officer? I haven't seen anyone matching that description!'"  
  
"Uh... I'm sorry, I... I don't quote follow..." he faltered. The kid looked genuinely confused now.   
  
"Look - you just hit my car. I'm underage for driving and the last thing I need is for you to go blabbing to the police that I hit you while you were out walking minding your own business!"  
  
"Walking," he grinned. "Good one. And forget the car."  
  
"Damn right forget that!"  
  
"No, I mean that's not important," smiled the kid. "You saved me!"  
  
"Saved you?"  
  
"The... uh... the thing that tried to curse us - you saved me from him! How did you do it?"  
  
"Woah - hold on a sec - you think I saved you? Fuckin' hell mate, I damn near killed you!"  
  
Crap. Admission by me. Bad plan. However this kid was quite clearly insane. Perhaps he had a concussion or something. Either way, whatever he was saying just wasn't making sense. Perhaps I should try and calm him down a little - the strong arm tactics obviously weren't working. Besides, if I could belt him at seventy-odd with a car, send him flying over the roof and thud on the ground and sit up moments later with ne'er a bruise to be seen then I was fairly certain that my fists would have little if any impact whatsoever.  
  
"What's your name, kid?"  
  
"Colin," he replied, staring back at me avidly. "Colin Creevy." He was sat right on the front of the chair, hands gripping the front edge of the seat as if in anticipation of something. Indeed, his voice too confirmed the eagerness. "What's yours?"  
  
"Liam," I offered.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Liam," he gushed, and extended a grubby hand.  
  
Cautiously, I shook it. "It really is good to meet another wizard," he beamed. "I mean, I would've thought you'd have been at school. Unless you're on attachment too,"  
  
Totally cuckoo, this one. Definitely concussion. Against my usual judgement, my compassionate side made a very rare outing. I surprised even myself.  
  
"Listen, Colin, how about you spend the night here - there's a spare bed made up so you may as well help yourself."  
  
"Really? Oh thanks, Liam, that's really great of you! I mean, I'd hoped to be back at Hogwarts this evening but I was starting to get really tired and..."  
  
"It's fine, Colin, honestly," I interrupted. "Just up the stairs, second on your right,"  
  
He grinned once again and trotted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I just sat in disbelief at the kitchen table, not being able to comprehend exactly what'd transpired that night. I looked at my watch: 2:12AM.  
  
I sighed and decided that an early (for me) night would be a good plan. I put Colin's untouched can of Coke back in the fridge, killed the lights and trudged up the stairs myself.   
  
When I got to the top floor landing, I punched in the night alarm code then proceeded to my room, one further down than Colin's.  
  
I stripped off to my T-shirt and boxers, switched off the main light and collapsed onto my bed.  
  
Colin Creevy... What kind of a name was that anyway? As I sat and contemplated the odd things that had happened that evening, my mind kept drifting back to Colin. He had very fair blond, scruffy hair and dazzling blue eyes and a touch of a lisp when he spoke. He was built like a matchstick but despite that I couldn't help thinking that he wasn't offensive to the eye. Verging on cute, even.  
  
I mentally kicked myself for that last thought as I really didn't want to be gay. I mean, as if I didn't have enough on my plate without knowing, deep down, that I was terminally attracted to other boys. My Dad would chuck me out of the house in the blink of an eye. The fact that I was even alive I'm sure displeased him but to be alive and gay I was sure would be enough for him to dispose of me. Not that he'd even notice if I bought another guy home and shagged him all night - he had managed to somehow make me blend into the scenery - I was another of the many things that he owned and in which he very quickly lost interest. Even so, I wasn't willing to risk it.  
  
All in all, it had been one very odd evening. Consciousness left me in moments.  
  
Initially I couldn't work out what had woken me. I never wake up in the middle of the night without a reason. I sat up and listened - not a sound. Then I heard the feint, rapid "BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP" of the alarm panel by my bed. Zone two, the downstairs hallway, had been tripped. Strangely zone one, the doors and windows, hadn't been. Not taking any chances, I reached beneath my bed until my fingers came into contact with cold metal.  
  
I closed my fingers around the baseball bat and pulled it out quietly, tip-toed to my bedroom door and gently opened it a fraction. The dim night-light from the stairs cast an eerie gloom down the landing, but it was enough to confirm that there was no-one there.  
  
Carefully, I ventured along the landing, pressed tightly to the wall. As I approached the hall's alarm panel, I could now see that zones two and five had been tripped, five being a pressure pad on the top step. I took a deep breath, stepped round the corner and swung, but my bat simply swished through thin air.  
  
I exhaled with relief, but it was short lived. I heard a creak from behind me and, without looking, I made a wild swing in an arc with one hand. To my shock, the bat made contact with, as best as I could see, thin air accompanied by an "Oof!".  
  
I punched the lights. Of all the scenes I thought may have greeted me, the one I was presented with certainly took me off guard. On the floor was a head, the face of which was contorted in pain. Aside from the grimace, the most striking feature was the head's bright red hair. For a moment I thought it was severed, but there was no blood anywhere. A moment later, a hand brandishing what looked like a stick appeared as if from under an invisible blanket. The head yelled "EXPELLIARMUS!". An intense flash of red light shot directly from the end of the stick at me which again took me rather by surprise, however when it hit it simply made my hand tingle slightly.  
  
I advanced on the hand and head that was lying on the floor and, as they tried to shuffle back, the invisible "blanket" they were wearing fell away to reveal dress very similar to Colin's. Once again, the boy pointed the stick at me and this time yelled "TARANTALLEGRA!". A similar flash of light hit me, this time making my legs tingle ever so slightly. Eyes now wide with fear, the boy continued to try and back away but this time I fell on him, pinning his arms painfully with my knees and the baseball bat jammed hard under his chin.  
  
"COLIN!" I yelled. "CREEVY, GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE,"  
  
A second later I head a thud from Colin's bedroom and the door was wrenched open. Colin, bleary eyed, gasped as he saw me pinning the intruder down.  
  
"Ron! Ron is that you?"  
  
"Colin! Get this psycho off me!"  
  
"Liam, it's OK, he's a friend of mine,"  
  
"No, Colin, it's not OK - this lanky fuckwit just BROKE INTO MY HOUSE!" I yelled.  
  
"OK, I'm sorry," the boy called Ron said, wincing with the pain of my weight on his upper arms.  
  
"Let go of that stick thing!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think he means your wand, Ron," added Colin, wincing in sympathy with Ron's grunts of discomfort. Ron let go of the wand and, after I picked it up, I climbed off him carefully.  
  
"Bloody hell, Creevy, you don't half know how to pick 'em," said the red-haired lad, rubbing his biceps alternately.  
  
"Colin, what the hell is going on here?" I asked.  
  
"I came to, uh, rescue him," said Ron, looking rather embarrassed. "We thought he'd been captured or something,"  
  
"No, I'm fine, Ron," chirped Colin in his annoyingly perky manner. "Thanks for the effort though," he smiled tentatively.  
  
"What kind of wizard are you, anyway? I mean, I know you can block spells like those, but I never knew you could do it with out incantation,"  
  
I looked at Colin once more, confused as ever. "Colin, what the hell is he on about?"  
  
"Well, we're wizards in training," he said quite candidly as if he'd just said 'oh, I like football'. "I assumed you were a wizard after last night when you stopped the death curse on me."  
  
"Death curse? This bloke stopped the DEATH CURSE? No friggin' wonder I wasn't exactly winning,"  
  
"Hold on, wizards? You're training to be wizards? Like with wands and dragons and cauldrons and shit?" I asked incredulously.  
  
Ron continued, totally oblivious to my derisory tone. "Colin, Dumbledore needs to know about this bloke. I mean, he's like indestructible or something! No curse can harm him..."  
  
"But he's a Muggle! Ron, we can't just take a muggle back to Hogwarts!"  
  
Muggle? If anything sounded derisory, that did. "Err, excuse me - muggle?"  
  
"Non magical person,"  
  
"OK Liam - d'you mind if I try a little experiment?" asked Ron.  
  
"Knock yourself out," I grinned. This was just nuts. No, actually - THEY were just nuts. No way could any of this be even half way true.  
  
"Could I have my wand back?" asked Ron.  
  
So far, the most this kid had managed to muster was a tingle in my fingers and, as far as I could see, the most damage he could ever inflict would be by throwing it at me. What the hell: I handed it back to him.  
  
"What're you gonna do Ron?"  
  
"The Cruciatus curse,"  
  
The blood quite literally drained from Colin's face. Before I could do anything, Ron yelled "Crucio!" and yet another jet of bright red light hit me square in the chest. This time, it felt as if I was in hot sunlight, my skin feeling a gentle prickling of heat. Both Colin and Ron appeared speechless.  
  
"So I passed then?" I grinned. I wasn't sure if it was because of the sheer lunacy of the situation or the fact that between them and myself, no-one would ever know of our meeting, but I suddenly realised I'd dropped - for the first time in years - my whole "attitude". For whatever reason, I was actually enjoying their company. Either way, I didn't get an answer from them.  
  
"Well, I dunno about you two, but I'm going to bed again." I stated.  
  
"Where's Ron gonna sleep?" asked Colin, conscientious as ever.  
  
"It's a big enough bed - I'll let you two fight over it,"  
  
Turning my back on the two lads, I yawned and ambled back down the hall to my room and closed the door behind me, leaving both Colin and Ron rather speechless. I always liked dramatics.  
  
Back in my bedroom I had just enough coherence left in me to collapse into bed, drifting into a sleep interspersed with dreams of weird and wonderful lands inhabited by dragons and wizards and all manner of other strange creatures. That night, I slept very soundly indeed. 


	2. Expanding Horizons

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER TWO:: Expanding horizons.  
  
I've always been a summer person. I don't really hate winter, after all it provides a very nice contrast with summer itself, but I simply prefer summer's traits. Once such trait is the light mornings. Waking up to winter's seemingly perpetual murk can be disheartening at best and, in extreme cases, can totally prevent your average screwed-in-the-head teen from emerging from bed until at least early afternoon.  
  
This having been said, the fact that I once again found myself awake without knowing what woke me was especially strange. Somehow I knew that something had awakened me, but that's as far as my brain's deduction went. Then there came another tap at the door. Oh yeah - Colin and Ron. I looked at my bedside clock through bleary eyes. 5:11AM. Suddenly the full improbability of the previous night came flooding back into my mind and I woke up fully with a start.  
  
I flicked the lights on and wrenched the door open sharply, causing them to jump back in surprise.  
  
"Uh, m... morning, Liam," stuttered Colin. "Ron was just saying that we really ought to be getting on our way, but we'd really like you to come with us and meet our headmaster. You'd like him I think: People say he's the best headmaster Hogwarts has ever had," he spouted.  
  
Ron, on the other hand, looked like I felt. I noticed his sleep-reddened eyes carefully scan down my body, finally coming to rest at my crotch. After a moment, he swallowed hard and then looked back at my face, this time his gaze being met with my own. He looked rather embarrassed but I let a brief smile flash across my lips before replying to Colin.  
  
"Ron and I really need to be going now," he gasped, "but we wondered if you want to come with us."  
  
"Come with you?"  
  
Colin nodded eagerly.  
  
"Back to your school?"  
  
"Uh huh! I bet Professor Du..."  
  
"Why would I want to go to your school?"  
  
"To become a wizard! I'm sure Dumbledore'd let you in easy, especially after he sees what you can do."  
  
"And, er, why would I want to become a wizard?"  
  
This stumped Colin totally.  
  
"C'mon, Colin - he doesn't want to come," said Ron, pulling his wand out of his robes. "OBLIVIATE!"  
  
After the smoke from Ron's spell cleared, he said "Right, we'll be off then,". They turned and began to walk down the hallway.  
  
"Colin, what did he just try and do?" I asked, waving the rather acrid-smelling smoke out of my face.  
  
They both stopped dead in their tracks and looked at each other, then back at me.  
  
"I think we've got a bit of a problem," said Ron, looking exceptionally worried.  
  
"Um, Liam, don't take this personally, but Ron just tried to erase your memory of us and, umm, it... Well, it didn't work,"  
  
I strode down the corridor and grabbed Ron by his cloak. "Look mate, I don't appreciate having people trying to knacker my brain, OK?"  
  
Ron opened his mouth and then closed it again.  
  
I obviously wasn't getting through, so I bashed him against the wall a bit.  
  
"OK?"  
  
"OK, OK!"  
  
"Did I say I wouldn't come?"  
  
"Well, no, but..."  
  
"Well, then - let me just get changed and off we go. How do we get there, by the way?"  
  
"We'll fly,"  
  
"I just hope your flying is better than your wand waving,"  
  
Ron shot me a dirty look - apparently I'd touched a nerve. I grinned and went back into my room, leaving the door open. I pulled a sports bag off the top of my wardrobe and proceeded to hurl a couple of changes of clothes in as well as a few bits and pieces such as my Walkman, camera etc. Moments later, I was being hurried downstairs by the two lads and out of the back door.  
  
"So how are we getting to... umm..."  
  
"Hogwarts? Broom."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You know, thing you sit on and fly with?"  
  
"These things fly?" I queried, eyebrows raised. I realised that this, if the brooms did as they were supposed, would be my first 'proper' demonstration of magic.  
  
"You gonna take him, Col?"  
  
"O... OK," stammered Colin, a mixture of pride and nerves washing across his pale face. Ron took his broom, mounted it and to my utter amazement, kicked off from the ground and sailed off effortlessly into the air accompanied by a slight 'whoosh' as he did so.  
  
At that moment, I was absolutely astounded. Everything that Colin and Ron had said about training to be wizards, about their Headmaster, about my power, until now had been almost disregarded by my brain as irrelevant to 'real' life. Now I was scrabbling to remember as the thought occurred that there was more truth than invention in what they had said. They were training to be wizards. Wizards! They had FLYING BROOMSTICKS! Now fast cars were cool, but being able to fly? I wanted a flying broomstick! Right - wizard it is, then!  
  
Colin, by this stage, had straddled his broom and looked over his shoulder at me.  
  
"You coming?"  
  
I pulled the bag I was carrying onto my back like a rucksack and sat on the back of Colin's broomstick. I chuckled inwardly - if only my mates could see me now - sat pillion on a friggin' broomstick!  
  
"I'd, er, hold tight Liam." I rather awkwardly put my arms round Colin. As much as I was not at all averse to the idea of hugging another lad, it wasn't something I had a vast amount of experience in. Not that I'd ever admit it, of course.  
  
"Tighter than that..." said Colin as he prepared to take off.  
  
"Any tighter Colin and I'd crush you,"  
  
He laughed nervously, obviously not sure if I was joking or threatening him. Just to add a little reassurance, I wiggled my fingers in his rib cage causing him to giggle and squirm a little.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"As I'll ever be,"  
  
Colin pulled up gently on the neck of the broom and, to my utter astonishment, our feet left the ground. I mean, I was sat on a lump of wood with a bunch of twigs tied rather haphazardly to one end and the damn thing was lifting our combined weight with ease! This was just so cool!  
  
Our rate of ascent gradually increased along with our forward speed until we were positively motoring over the Derbyshire countryside. Unbelievably, despite our great speed, there was very little wind noise and I found I could talk to Colin without too much effort.  
  
"Man, this is fuckin' amazing!"  
  
"Do you believe it now?"  
  
"Nah, not at all!" I laughed, and hugged Colin tighter. He obviously approved of this as he felt as if he snuggled further back against me, the top of his bum now pressed very firmly into my crotch - a sensation I didn't find at all disagreeable!  
  
As if spurred on by this, he pushed the broom's nose down and we glided lower, the speed we were travelling at becoming all the more apparent. We whistled over villages and farms, woods and rivers, all the time myself clinging onto Colin. The exhilaration of flying by broom for the first time was almost intoxicating, the sense of freedom given by the lack of enclosure felt extremely liberating whilst the feeling of Colin's warm bod encircled by my arms provided me with an immense sense of security.  
  
Up until that point I can't recall a single time when I'd ever felt happier or more at peace with myself as I did right then.  
  
"Where's this castle then?" I asked.  
  
"Quite a while yet," replied Colin. "It's up in the Scottish Highlands."  
  
He pulled on the nose of the broom again and took us back up through the clouds. The grey, damp mist chilled us both to the bone, but soon the cloud above us began to glow a golden colour. Suddenly, we burst through into clear blue skies with blazing sunshine.  
  
I could only gasp as I looked around - the sky seemed clearer than I could ever remember it and beneath us in every direction was the huge carpet of cloud we'd just cleared.  
  
After what I'd guess to be an hour and a half or so of flying, Colin dived back through the cloud that, this time, seemed to continue almost to the ground. It was highly disorienting, but we eventually found a level where the mist was less dense.  
  
I looked over his shoulder to see a large lake spreading out in front of us.  
  
Colin felt me shifting around behind him. "Nearly there," he smiled. "Castle's dead ahead,"  
  
"All I can see is rocks, hills and mist!"  
  
"Look closer!"  
  
As we flew on, just over the layer of mist hovering on the lake's surface, Hogwarts Castle magically de-blended itself from the surrounding terrain, its huge towers and arches crookedly reaching skyward like some mad form of stalagmite. The place was huge and looked as if it had been built on an "as required" basis, towers and halls being added haphazardly over its many years.  
  
Colin flew us on a lap round the castle. Below us were a handful of pupils, scurrying along walkways and traversing quads and paved areas. Eventually, my pilot took us in for a near-perfect landing on a green to the back of the school.  
  
"CREEVY!" yelled a rather obnoxious voice from behind us. "Where the devil have you been? The Daily Prophet said you didn't turn up for work yesterday and before you open your mouth you'd better have dreamt up at least a vaguely tenable excuse."  
  
As soon as this verbal onslaught had started I felt Colin flinch. We turned our heads and saw a tall, greasy-haired man striding purposefully towards us.  
  
"Uh, Professor Snape, sir, I..."  
  
"And who, pray, is your passenger," he enquired, voice lowering to an altogether more repulsive slime as he reached us.  
  
"Liam Blackdon," I offered, extending my hand.  
  
"Mr Creevy," continued Snape, totally ignoring me, "I don't believe that Mr. Blackdon here is enrolled in this establishment, is he?"  
  
"Uh, n... no, sir," stuttered Colin.  
  
"That being the case, may I enquire as to why you've brought him here? Should he not be at his own institution,"  
  
"He's a muggle, sir,"  
  
I still didn't quite know what to make of that term, my reflex reaction being to take it as a rather fundamental insult. Snape's face seemed to travel through almost every reaction it was capable of before settling on total fury.  
  
"Follow me." he snapped. "Both of you."  
  
Colin sniffed hard and wiped his nose on his robe sleeve.  
  
"C'mon," I grinned. "It'll be OK."  
  
"I dunno," he coughed. "Snape's got it in for me. Actually, I think he's got it in for all Gryffindors..."  
  
"I don't remember giving you permission to speak," snapped Snape from in front of us.  
  
"And I don't remember giving you permission to talk down to me."  
  
Talking back to adults had been one of my finer skills since primary school.  
  
Snape stopped dead in his tracks, his robes taking a further couple of seconds to calm down from his overly-animated stride.  
  
"Mr Blackdon," said Snape in a dangerously quiet voice as he slowly turned to face me. "I'd strongly suggest that you watch your mouth: You are out of your depth and a guest here."  
  
He was about to turn and continue his stride, but the man was rubbing me up in totally the wrong way. "So is this how you treat all your guests?"  
  
"For your own protection, Mr. Blackdon, you should bite your tongue."  
  
"You know, you make a lousy host."  
  
In one fluid move, he reached into his robes with his right hand and drew his wand. "Stupefy!"  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
Snape looked at his wand incredulously. "STUPEFY!" he yelled again.  
  
I leaned over towards Colin and said in a very loud whisper "Does he try to act like such a shit or does it come naturally?"  
  
Colin barely stifled the snigger.  
  
"Creevy! Twenty points from Gryffindor!" yelled Snape, quickly loosing his cool. While the smile vanished instantly from Colin's face, I quickly spotted a victim.  
  
At every school I'd ever attended (and there had been a few), there was at least one - although usually two or three - members of staff that considered themselves absolute: They would never be questioned or queried by a pupil and usually ended up purple-faced with rage as I drove them wild with insults, quips and general, miscellaneous disobedience and dissent.  
  
Snape was just such a person...  
  
"Is there a problem, Professor Snape?" asked a fairly tall man with a long, flowing beard and a deep blue cloak.  
  
"Ah, headmaster... Creevy, after being missing all night, has just returned with a muggle! It's a serious breach of school rules for any pupil to..."  
  
"Thank you, Severus," smiled the man. "I'm sure Mr. Creevy has a perfectly reasonable explanation for his actions."  
  
Colin nodded profusely.  
  
Snape nodded respectfully at the headmaster, shot me a glance that would kill at a hundred paces and stormed off back towards the castle.  
  
"I must apologise for Professor Snape," mulled the headmaster. "I'm afraid that his loyalty to the school is so absolute that he gets a little over-zealous sometimes. I'm Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts," he smiled, extending his hand.  
  
I'm usually quite good at making snap-judgements as to someone's character and intentions, and I decided immediately that I liked this Dumbledore bloke. On the other hand, I wouldn't be at all concerned if I never met Snape again.  
  
"Liam Blackdon," I replied, shaking his hand.  
  
"Blackdon," repeated Dumbledore as if he was thinking out loud. "Mr. Creevy, perhaps you and Liam here would care for a cup of tea? The kitchens have made some absolutely delightful scones..."  
  
The headmaster led us over the lawn on which we'd landed and up to the School's main entrance. His walk wasn't the quickest in the world, but it was purposeful.  
  
We walked into the main entrance hall and it was at this stage that the enormity of the place hit me. Somehow, even with the castle's huge size, it seemed even bigger on the inside. Dumbledore led us over to a huge stone staircase on the wall of which were assorted paintings and tapestries. My mouth hung open in amazement as I saw some of the paintings move. I could barely splutter out a response when one of them asked me how I was.  
  
We reached the first floor and Dumbledore led us along a corridor with a high-vaulted ceiling, adorned each side with tapestries, stone sculptures and the odd suit of Armour.  
  
Just when I thought this place was mad enough, one of the suits of armour leaped from its stand in front of Colin and myself.  
  
"HALT! None shall pass!" cackled the armour.  
  
"Fuck me!" I exclaimed, heart racing. The suit of armour fell quiet and then leaned towards me. "Is that a request or an order?" it enquired, the reedy voice oozing sliminess.  
  
By this time, Dumbledore had turned round to see what was going on and sighed.  
  
"Peeves!" he boomed.  
  
This time, it was the suit of armour's time to jump. With a clatter, it turned round to face Dumbledore.  
  
"Oh Professor Dumbledore sir," it oozed.  
  
"Peeves, I would appreciate it if you would give potential students just a little time to acclimatise."  
  
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore sir, of course Professor Dumbledore sir..."  
  
"Now if you would be so kind as to return that suit of armour to its stand..."  
  
The shoulders of the armour slumped and it trudged off back to where it came from. A moment later, a blue-grey cloud of - well, ghost - floated out of the visor in the helmet, made kissy-kissy noises at me and sped off down the corridor, followed by a distant clatter and a scream.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head and continued in the direction we were originally heading.  
  
"What was that?" I asked Colin as we walked.  
  
"Peeves the poltergeist," he replied nonchalantly. "He never really hurts anyone, just gets in their way and makes lots of noise."  
  
"You mean that was a ghost?"  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"A real live ghost?"  
  
"Well, a real dead ghost, but yes."  
  
"Cool!"  
  
"You've never seen a ghost before?"  
  
I shook my head.  
  
"You may be in for a few surprises then," smiled Colin.  
  
We turned the corner at the end of the corridor and were faced with a large gargoyle. "Mint imperial," said the headmaster. Once again, disbelief had to be suspended as a solid stone carving that must've weighed the best part of three tons jumped aside as nimbly as any cat, revealing a spiral staircase. We followed Dumbledore up the stairs, with the statue landing with a heavy 'ker-thud' as it leaped back into place.  
  
"Tea," he smiled as we entered his oval-shaped office. He grabbed a neatly folded table cloth from his desk and shook it out as if laying it on a table and, sure enough, the cloth settled around a table that simply hadn't been there before. What's more, a teapot, three cups and a plate of scones adorned it.  
  
I looked at Colin, speechless. Even he was smiling at the effortless conjuring that Dumbledore had just performed.  
  
He noticed me smiling and pulled his cloak up to his elbows. "Nothing up my sleeves," he chuckled. I just shook my head and smiled back. "Now, how do you take your tea boys?"  
  
"White, one sugar please," said Colin. Dumbledore picked up the teapot and poured a steaming hot cup of tea into the first cup, and then handed it to Colin.  
  
"Same for me please," I replied to his glance. Dumbledore performed the same routine and handed me my cup. Although the tea was dark when it had been poured, it now contained the perfect amount of milk.  
  
He poured a final cup for himself and placed it on his desk.  
  
"Now, Liam, time to see if my memory serves me correctly."  
  
He turned and walked up the small flight of stairs to the huge rows of bookcases behind his desk.  
  
"Ah, yes, here we are," said Dumbledore after a few moments, pulling a huge tome from one of the many shelves. He carried it back to his desk, carefully set his tea to one side and rubbed the dust from the cover, revealing an embossed Hogwarts crest. He heaved the book open and traced his finger down the extremely ornate index. "Blackdon, William," he smiled. He turned over a series of pages and then looked me straight in the eye, and then back at the book. "Quite a family resemblance, I think."  
  
He spun the book round and I peered over the desk. To my absolute amazement, someone who I could only really call a doppelganger was scowling back at me from the photo. "Oh crap! That's me!"  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. "Not exactly, Liam. I believe him to be your great, great, great, great grandfather, and by the looks of things," he spun the book round to face him once again, "he was quite a handful. However, he also possessed some of the more obscure talents known to our world but inherent in your people."  
  
"How d'you mean, 'my' people?"  
  
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Elves."  
  
"You're saying I'm an Elf? Like a fairy-type-thingy?"  
  
"Well, not a pure Elf, no, but certainly descended from them. All the traits are there if you look: A light, agile build; thin face; blond hair... One might go so far as to say you have marginally pointy ears," the old man chuckled.  
  
I was suddenly very aware of Colin staring at the side of my head.  
  
"S... sorry," he spluttered when I turned and caught his eye, nearly spilling his tea in the process.  
  
"Elvish traits are carried by recessive genes within either parent," continued Dumbledore, apparently ignoring Colin's nerves. "The only time they surface is when both mother and father carry the genes. Usually this has little more effect than creating well-coordinated, blond offspring. You might have noticed you're appreciably quicker reaction-wise than your peers, and you can judge things better."  
  
I considered what he was saying. The British traffic police were seriously well-trained, yet they'd never managed to catch me. I could always out-drive, out-climb or out-manoeuvre anyone I so chose. In a strange kind of way this was starting to make sense.  
  
"However sometimes..." he peered over his spectacles "...it can have a more profound effect."  
  
"Profound in what sense?"  
  
"Perhaps Mr. Creevy can enlighten us both."  
  
Colin, who was just taking a sip of his tea, managed to snort a large quantity out. This kid needed just a little more self-confidence.  
  
"Well, sir, the night I met Liam, he was hit by the Death curse. After that..."  
  
"The Death curse? Are you sure, Colin?"  
  
Colin nodded. There was no change in Dumbledore's voice, but through the mass of wispy white hair his eyebrows raised very slightly.  
  
"And it had no effect on you Liam?"  
  
"Well, it knocked me off my feet and I felt as if someone had punched me in the guts, but other than that, no. To be honest, I thought the guy was pointing a gun at me."  
  
"My word, it appears that our Mr. Potter is not quite as unique as we first thought."  
  
Colin looked shocked by this statement, but I was more concerned with the sudden realisation that the fucker in the Halloween get-up actually tried to do me in.  
  
Nice.  
  
"Anything else, Colin?"  
  
"Ron tried to curse him a few times, but nothing happened... Oh, and we also tried to erase his memory and that didn't work either."  
  
"I would most certainly call that profound. Liam, I must tell you that the magic you had performed against you should have at least caused you short-term loss of memory and at worst... Well, suffice it to say neither you nor Mr. Creevy here would be able to enjoy these delicious scones." Dumbledore picked up the plate that was still sat next to the teapot on the non-table. "Would you care for one?"  
  
I took one of the scones (which were, as Dumbledore said, rather good) and chewed on it thoughtfully. Colin politely refused and decided to concentrate on holding his tea cup steady instead.  
  
"Now then Mr. Blackdon, normally I would offer anyone in your situation a choice - that of remaining at Hogwarts to learn to control their gift, or of returning home with a slight loss of memory. Unfortunately, given your apparent immunity to anything a wizard can throw at you, the latter option isn't particularly tenable."  
  
"So you're gonna keep me here?" I bristled. I didn't like the sound of that one bit. Sure this place seemed like a bit of a laugh, but it'd still be a prison. Nope - not good.  
  
"Not at all," smiled Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "I was simply going to ask you not to reveal the location of the school or anything you have seen here to anyone."  
  
Stand down DefCon five. "And you'd trust me to do that? Or rather not to do that?"  
  
"Blood runs thicker than water, Mr. Blackdon: Your ancestor was certainly a handful with a huge disregard for the rules and authority, but according to my predecessor he was trustworthy. I feel the same is true of yourself."  
  
Somehow, that coming from Dumbledore meant a whole lot more to me than any other praise I'd ever received. I immediately resolved that I would do exactly as he asked.  
  
"May I have a while to think about this?"  
  
"But of course, dear boy. Colin, would you be so good as to act as guardian to Mr Blackdon and show him around?"  
  
"Ye... Yessir," Colin blustered, looking immensely proud.  
  
"Very well, then," said Dumbledore, standing up. Colin and I rose, too. "Colin will escort you to me when you feel comfortable with any decision you have made. Now, if you hurry, there may still be a little breakfast available in the Great Hall. As good as these scones are, I'm afraid I would not be doing my duty if I wasn't seen to at least try and instill a proper diet in my students."  
  
I couldn't help but laugh at Dumbledore. Somehow the man managed to make light of even the most serious situation without trivialising it. He smiled back at me as Colin led me from his study.  
  
"One last thing, Liam," called Dumbledore.  
  
"Yes sir?" DAMN! Must be losing my touch - I never show respect to my elders...  
  
"Usually we'd know about anyone with even the slightest twinge of magical ability. You wouldn't happen to have any idea at all how you managed to slip through the net, perchance?"  
  
I considered this for a moment. "Would an overwhelming desire to be invisible to anyone with even the slightest authority do the trick?"  
  
"In your case Liam, yes, I believe it would." 


	3. A Learning Experience

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER THREE:: A learning experience.  
  
The best thing I can think of to which I can compare Colin Creevy is a Jack Russell Terrier - continually bouncing around and far too eager for his own good. Ordinarily, I could not have tolerated such a person for more than a few minutes at a time but this situation was anything other than ordinary.  
  
To his credit, though, he was being perfectly civil towards me even after I had nearly killed him. Ugh - that thought still made me feel sick.  
  
Colin continued to astound and amaze me with the sheer volume of verbage that spouted in an endless stream from his mouth. Interspersed with the plentiful digressions and anecdotes, there were actually a few useful snippets of information I managed to pick up: He was going to give me a guided tour of the school, starting with breakfast in the Great Hall, and then round the castle and its grounds. As we descended the main staircase back to the ground floor, animated chatter from Hogwarts' students could be heard through a huge pair of doors.  
  
Once again, I had to consciously close my mouth as I saw the ceiling of the Great Hall. The huge stone pillars that supported its not inconsiderable weight seemed to melt into nothing as they got higher, being replaced instead with nothing but sky. Colin noticed my awe.  
  
"It's enchanted to mimic the sky outside," he explained.  
  
"What happens when it rains?"  
  
"It rains in here, too, but you don't get wet."  
  
"Ahh..." Perfectly logical for an enchanted ceiling, I suppose.  
  
In the Great Hall were four long tables with a bench along either side. I noticed that the occupants of each table sported matching uniforms. A quick glance at Colin's red and gold edging to his v-neck jumper confirmed our destination. As we walked up between two of the tables, I suddenly became aware of people looking at me curiously and them whispering between themselves. Considering I was the only one wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt with "Lucky FCUK" stamped across it, I guess I got off fairly lightly.  
  
Colin continued walking almost up to the end of the table and sat down next to two identical twins that shared the same firey-red hair as Ron, who sat opposite them. Either side of Ron sat a girl with frizzy brown hair and another lad with jet black, unruly hair and glasses. As he glanced at me I couldn't help but do a double take - I wasn't sure what, but something about the way he looked at me caused my gaze to linger a little longer than I think either of us would have liked. They had all been talking enthusiastically as we approached but soon clammed up as Colin and I sat down.  
  
"Hi," chirped Colin. "This is Liam Blackdon - I'm showing him around the school before he decides if he wants to stay here."  
  
There was a rather uneasy silence combined with a couple of scowls.  
  
"Look, uh, Ron isn't it? I'm sorry I got you with the baseball bat, but next time you might want to try ringing the doorbell," I smiled. "Truce?" I offered, holding out my hand.  
  
Ron considered for a moment before smiling his skewed smile back at me and shaking on it. Immediately the tension seemed to drop, which implied from past experience that this lot were fairly close friends.  
  
"What would you like to eat, Liam?" gushed Colin.  
  
I cast an eye around at what everyone else was eating - full English breakfast - and decided that was a good idea. No sooner than the words had escaped my lips, a full spread of bacon, eggs, sausage, tomatoes, beans and toast appeared in front of me. Now, you'd have thought by now that I'd at least have started to get used to this magic thing, but no, I was still shocked much to the amusement of the others.  
  
"I suppose we'd better introduce ourselves," said the bushy-haired girl in a rather bossy voice. "I'm Hermione Granger, this I'm sure you already know is Ron Weasley, the two bookends there are Fred and George Weasley, Ron's brothers, and this is Harry Potter."  
  
Harry smiled and nodded cordially at me. I couldn't help but smile back.  
  
"So what were you doing to knock some sense into Colin then?" asked one of the Weasley twins.  
  
"Joyriding."  
  
Everyone's face looked puzzled except for Hermione and Harry.  
  
"What's joyriding?" asked Ron between mouthfulls of sausage.  
  
"Well, it's where you... Well, you get a car and thrash it round for a bit."  
  
"What, you have a car? You're not old enough to drive are you?" asked the other Weasley twin.  
  
"Well, no and no - I'm not old enough to drive and it wasn't my car."  
  
"So who's car was it?"  
  
"Dunno."  
  
"So you stole it?" Ron asked incredulously.  
  
"Well, yeah - that's kinda the idea."  
  
The twins eyes lit up.   
  
"What about the police?" they asked in unison.  
  
"They're not a problem unless they catch you. But I s'pose that's half the fun."  
  
The twins looked as if they were about to undertake some kind of hero worship. Colin looked torn between shock and admiration, Ron just looked plain shocked, Hermione was acting as if someone had just shoved a dog turd under her nose and Harry - well, he seemed lost in thought.  
  
"So you were driving a stolen car underage and uninsured?" snorted Hermione in a rather derisory tone.  
  
"Mmmhmm," I replied, scooping a fork-full of beans into my mouth.  
  
"Well I just think that's plain irresponsible. You could've killed Colin!"  
  
"Well he was the one flying across the road at car height! If you're gonna fly along roads, at least go in the same direction as the traffic!"  
  
"That's a point, Creevy, what were you doing there in the middle of the night?" asked Ron. All eyes turned to Colin who took a very large gulp of the pumpkin juice he was drinking.  
  
"I might ask you the same thing!" snapped Colin in response.  
  
Ron opened his mouth as if to lay into Colin, but on seeing Hermione's questioning gaze, stopped to think about what he was about to say.  
  
"Well?" asked Hermione.  
  
"I.. uh..."  
  
"Go on," she urged in a very disapproving tone of voice.  
  
"It was a dare," he admitted.  
  
"A dare? Who dared you to go and spy on Colin?"  
  
"We'd, uh, better be going," said Fred as he and George tried to gently ease out from the table with the minimum amount of fuss.  
  
"It was you two, wasn't it?" she asked.  
  
"Gottagobye!" grinned George, dragging his brother out of the Great Hall at a rapid rate of knots.  
  
"Honestly, Ron, I can't believe you'd do something like that! You know Fred and George are just doing it for their own entertainment..."  
  
Ron nodded resignedly. Colin, who thought he'd escaped the inquisition, nearly jumped when Hermione rounded on him. "So what's your excuse for being out of school and so far away in the middle of the night?"  
  
"I was working for the Daily Prophet," he replied rather unenthusiastically.  
  
"Oh yes? Doing what, exactly?"  
  
"I'm not sure I'm supposed to..."  
  
"Colin..."  
  
"Mr. Figg and I were... Well, he said there were some Dark goings-on in the area and he wanted photographic evidence."  
  
"So he took YOU?" giggled Ron.  
  
Colin nodded weakly. "He said if anything went wrong not to tell anyone."  
  
"And presumably something did go wrong," said Harry, speaking for the first time.  
  
"We stumbled across a gathering of Death Eaters," stuttered Colin. "They spotted us and Mr Figg just ran off. I did the same but I was chased. I managed to get back to my broom but they were still chasing me and I just tried to fly as fast as I could and must've flown out into the road and that's about all I remember."  
  
"So then you were hit by Liam?"  
  
"I must've been. The next thing I remember is the Death Eater that was chasing me casting the Killing Curse and Liam being thrown on top of me. The Death Eater then vanished back into the woods and Liam took me to his house."  
  
"And you didn't think it might've been a good idea to tell someone this, Colin?" asked Ron looking exasperated.  
  
"Well, I promised Mr Figg that..."  
  
"Colin - you were nearly killed! Just thank your lucky stars that Liam was there," said Harry. "I think you ought to go and tell Dumbledore."  
  
"But Mr. Figg'll be..."  
  
A stern look from Hermione, Ron and Harry cut him short. He took another gulp of his pumpkin juice and stood up from the table.  
  
"Liam, will you be OK if..."  
  
"He'll be fine, Colin." Hermione assured him.  
  
He sighed, resigned himself to seeing Dumbledore and trudged off out of the Great Hall.  
  
"Well, I guess you'd better tag along with us," smiled Harry.  
  
"What have we got first period?" asked Ron.  
  
"Umm, I think it was supposed to be Defense Against the Dark Arts, but we're getting our extra dueling lesson instead. I think it's Snape taking it again."  
  
Everyone groaned.  
  
*****  
  
"Silence!" yelled Snape as he stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him. "As I mentioned last time I am expecting you all to have learned and practised at least one method of disarming and incapacitating your opponent. Let's choose a pair totally at random... Granger - you're facing Malfoy."  
  
Hermione sighed and climbed onto one end of the dueling platform whilst a sneering, cocky little shit climbed onto the other. I knew he was a sneering, cocky little shit as he appeared to be quite alarmingly similar to myself.  
  
"Who's that?" I whispered to Harry who was stood right next to me.  
  
"Draco Malfoy - Snape's golden boy."  
  
"Ahh,"  
  
"He's an insufferable little bastard - the only problem is he's quite good."  
  
"Ready? Salute!" yelled Snape.  
  
Both Hermione and Malfoy whipped their wands in front of their faces, and then back down to their sides again. Malfoy quite obviously whispered something to Hermione that caused her face to flush red. Malfoy simply sniggered at the reaction.  
  
"Turn and pace," barked Snape. "One... Two... Thr..  
  
Before the syllable had been uttered, Malfoy yelled something Latin-sounding and a bright blue streak shot from the end of his wand down the length of the dueling platform and hit Hermione square in the chest. I gasped as she pirouetted up in an arc, wand being thrown from her hand, before landing with a heavy thump, groaning.  
  
Ron dashed to Hermione's aid whilst Harry just shook his head.  
  
"Well done, Mr. Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin."  
  
"Does this always happen?"  
  
"Generally, yes," sighed Harry. "Ever since things got a bit out of hand between Malfoy and myself we're not usually paired."  
  
"Ahh, Mr. Blackdon," sneered Snape as he glared down from the platform. "As you seem to already know a vast amount about dueling, perhaps you'd like to face Mr. Malfoy."  
  
"I'm sorry, what?"  
  
"Well, you're obviously so acquainted with our practises that you and Mr. Potter" - he really spat out the 'P' - "don't need to pay attention. Now by all means, please show us all how it's done."  
  
I considered it for a moment, and then thought 'What the hell'.  
  
Snape was obviously shocked when I took him up on his offer, but shock quickly gave way to his usual, sadistic smile.  
  
"Mr. Potter, perhaps you'd be so good as to lend your wand to Mr Blackdon,"  
  
Harry shrugged and handed his wand to me.  
  
"C'mon, boy, we don't have all day," snapped Snape.  
  
I leisurely walked to the end of the platform and climbed on. Malfoy was stood in the middle of the platform waiting for me.  
  
"Salute!" yelled Snape. I did as Hermione had done and held Harry's wand in front of my face.  
  
"I hope you like pain," sneered Malfoy. I just made a kissy-kissy face back at him. He faltered for a moment. I'd managed to throw him momentarily, and mentally chalked one up on my scoreboard.  
  
"Turn and pace!" shouted Snape once again.  
  
I took a leisurely walk to my end of the platform and before I even had the chance to turn round I heard Malfoy yell the same incantation he'd used against Hermione, followed a split-second later by a slight tingling sensation in my lower back. I stopped, sighed and handed the wand back to Harry who was looking at me in disbelief.  
  
I turned round once more to find Malfoy inspecting his wand as if it was defective before he cast the spell a second time, this time causing a slight tingle in my stomach. I then began to walk down the platform towards Malfoy.  
  
He looked at me in increasing amounts of horror as he cast spell after spell, each one producing a slightly different tingle, itch, pinch or prickle as they hit, but none impeding my progress towards him in any way. When I was within a couple of feet of him, I snatched his wand out of his hand and threw it over my shoulder. I then balled up my fist, leant back slightly and then thrust it forward towards his face. One right-hook later and Mr. Malfoy was sat on the ground with a bloody nose and a slightly dazed look.  
  
Then the cheer went up.  
  
"SILENCE!" boomed Snape. "Mr Blackdon," he continued to yell. "That is not how a dual is performed!" he seethed.  
  
"Well, I fulfilled both requirements - he's disarmed and, for the moment at least, fairly well incapacitated."  
  
"Fifty points from..."  
  
"I'm not a student here."  
  
Snape looked as if he was about to burst a blood vessel. I just smiled back at him benignly. Damn this was fun.  
  
"CLASS DISMISSED" he roared and stormed towards the door. "And someone get Malfoy to the hospital wing."  
  
"How did you do that?" asked Harry as he offered me his hand to aid me from the platform.  
  
"The whole 'get shot by magic and keep on going' thing? I dunno. Call me the Energizer Bunny," I smiled, taking his hand and jumping down by him.  
  
There was something about this raven-haired, bespectacled lad that I found intriguing, yet I couldn't quite put my finger on what exactly endeared him to me. Under the scruffy hair and the glasses lay a face that was very obviously predisposed to smiling. Somehow, though, he gave me the impression the opportunities when he allowed that to happen were few and far between.  
  
Thankfully this appeared to be one of the few occasions when he did let a smile escape to his features. His face literally lit up as he grinned back at me.  
  
"You know, it's really good to see someone give Malfoy such a shock. I don't think I've ever seen him so scared!"  
  
"Anyone who can treat a girl like that deserves what's coming to 'em."  
  
The one thing I had learned from my wonderful, doting parents (!) was that a bloke fighting a woman where the woman was very obviously at a physical disadvantage just shouldn't happen. I'd heard mum crying herself to sleep once to often to want that to happen to anyone. I frowned at myself - I was guessing it was the very sudden change in my conception of reality, but whatever it was, I was feeling a whole lot more. Hell, one could almost argue I cared. Strange feeling, that.  
  
Harry smiled. "I wouldn't let Hermione hear you say that. She's quite... Independent."  
  
"I guessed as much. So how long have you been here?"  
  
"Since I was eleven. I got a letter saying I'd been accepted but my Aunt and Uncle weren't too happy about the idea."  
  
"Your aunt and uncle? What did your parents say?"  
  
"Not a lot - they were killed when I was a baby."  
  
"Oh... Oh I'm sorry..."  
  
"Don't be... It's actually quite a change to meet someone who doesn't know the story."  
  
"Story?"  
  
Harry stowed his wand inside the folds of his cloak and picked up his book bag. "The story about how Lord Voldemort murdered my parents and tried to kill me too, but the curse bounced off me and killed - well, severely injured - him instead. The only thing that it left me with is this scar."  
  
He brushed his mop of hair away to reveal a lightning-shaped scar above his right eye.  
  
"You know, if you hadn't have told me, I'd have thought you head-butted an electrical outlet."  
  
"You know, no-one's ever said that to me before," he grinned, and then started to laugh.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's actually quite funny."  
  
"Well, yeah, but not that funny..."  
  
"No, really - most people shy away from the subject and change topics."  
  
"Never been one to do that, mate," I grinned.  
  
"Yeah, I kinda noticed... Anyway, we're two of a kind I s'pose - the only two people in history to have had the killing curse used against us and live to tell the tale."  
  
"No shit?"  
  
"No shit."  
  
"Oh. Ace!"  
  
"I guess so. Never really looked at it that way before. It is quite cool, isn't it?"  
  
"Think we're bullet-proof too?"  
  
"I'm not sure - probably best not to try and find out either, eh?" he grinned.  
  
"I think you're right."  
  
"Hey, hold on you two," yelled Ron. We turned to see Ron with a slightly worse for wear Hermione draped around his neck. She didn't look too bad, but had the 'I'm really hurting but I'm damned if I'm gonna show it' smile on her face.  
  
I dashed back and got her, rather hesitantly, to drape her free arm around my neck too. As both Ron and I were a good head taller than Hermione, we both looked at each other and with a "One, two, three, lift!" she was dangling quite comfortably between us. We took as direct a route to the Hospital Wing as the moving staircases (mouth closed, Liam) would allow where a rather stern looking woman known as Madam Pomfrey fussed and clucked around us. As she tended to Hermione's ankle (which had been very badly sprained as she landed awkwardly on it) and applied some kind of herbal teabag-like thing she let us know in no uncertain terms as to how she disapproved of such violent activities.  
  
"Quidditch is bad enough," she ranted, "but Dueling - honestly, they'll be having fist fights next!"  
  
At that moment, the doors to the hospital wing burst open again, this time with two lads resembling gorillas holding Malfoy between them.  
  
"Goodness gracious, Mr. Malfoy, what have you been doing?"  
  
Malfoy had already spotted me and shot me a glare. "He punched me," he whinged. Now it was Madam Pomfrey's turn to shoot me a dirty look. Unfortunately, she chose the bed adjacent to Hermione's in which to place Malfoy. The two gorillas obediently sat by his bedside.  
  
"Now just try and relax, Mr. Malfoy, and keep your head back. I need some supplies from Professor Snape so I'll be a few moments."  
  
As soon as Pomfrey had turned her back, Malfoy pulled himself upright. "You just wait Blackdon," he said as he pinched his nose to stem the blood flow. "You'll get it, just like Saint Potter, the weasel and your filthy little mudblood there."  
  
I nonchalantly placed one foot on the side of Hermione's bed and tilted my chair back, trapping Malfoy's fingers between it and the steel bed frame. He screamed out, but Pomfrey appeared to have left the wing momentarily.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Malfoy," I gushed, gradually increasing the pressure with my leg until I was pushing Hermione's bed with a scrawping sound across the tiled floor. "It appears that I have quite accidentally trapped your fingers between my chair and your bed. My word, that MUST be painful," I oozed between Malfoy's, screeches and sobs. "May I suggest that it would not be wise for any of our paths to cross in the future, unless you want to end up with an arm to match that rather tastefully buckled nose of yours... Don't you agree?"  
  
Ron, Harry and Hermione all nodded.  
  
Malfoy nodded between sobs.  
  
"Good. Oh my word, look at that: Your fingers're still trapped! I do apologise," I grinned and leant forward. His hand recoiled immediately and he cradled it to his chest. "Oh, and I wouldn't go mentioning this to poor Madam Pomfrey - she's got enough on her plate without having to deal with fractured limbs."  
  
"Are... you.. trying... to... threaten me?" blustered Malfoy between jagged breaths, trying to sound unintimidated.  
  
"Heavens no," I smiled. "I _AM_ threatening you."  
  
"Right, Miss Granger, off you go - that compress should've done it's work by now," announced Madam Pomfrey as she strode back into the room. Hermione spun her feet over the edge of the bed and tentatively let her weight back on to her injured ankle to find all of the pain and swelling had gone. She gave her thanks and all four of us headed for the exit.  
  
"That was pretty rotten what you did to Malfoy," Hermione said to me as we walked back towards the main school. "But thank you."  
  
"It was my pleasure, fair lady," I grinned, turning and bowing an extremely ornate bow as we walked which caused her to blush quite impressively. I just smiled even wider and half-skipped round until I was next to Harry once more.  
  
"So where are we heading now?"  
  
"Well, there's a free period next followed by Transfiguration."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Turning one thing into something else," explained Hermione, still not quite believing how quickly she'd had her ankle repaired.  
  
"What, like frogs into beautiful princesses?"  
  
"You've been reading far too many fairy stories, but yeah, same discipline although that's a lot more advanced than the level we're at."  
  
I wasn't expecting anything like an affirmative to that quip, but once again I had to remind myself I was in a different world now.  
  
"Cool. Doubt I'd be able to do anything like you lot can though."  
  
"Well, maybe not immediately," encouraged Hermione, "but you may as well try. If spells have no effect on you, goodness knows what else you're capable of!"  
  
"So has Dumbledore mentioned in passing why he's interested in you?" queried Ron. "I mean he doesn't just allow anyone into Hogwarts."   
  
"Well, Dumbledore seems to think I'm an Elf, and..."  
  
"You're Elven?" asked Hermione, eyes widening.  
  
"No, I'm fifteen," I grinned. Ron and Harry barely suppressed snorts of laughter.  
  
"No - EL-VEN," said Hermione, sounding rather exasperated, "as in 'descended from Elves',"  
  
"Oh. Yeah, so he reckons."  
  
"Liam, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Elves are... Dobby's an elf and he's... Well, he's only two-and-a-half feet tall for starters! You've got to be nearly six foot! I don't know a lot about Elves really as it as it doesn't come until the seventh year History of Magic course... C'mon," she smiled, and jogged off towards the Library. 


	4. Donkey!

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER FOUR:: Donkey!  
  
Hermione slowed rather abruptly to a very civilised walking pace as she approached the Library. It wasn't a huge room, but somehow the rows of bookcases seemed to go on longer than the depth of the room itself.  
  
She smiled cordially at the Librarian who was having a miniature battle with a rather vicious looking book. The book, though small, made up for its diminutive size with enthusiasm and determination in defending the corner of her desk which it appeared to have claimed as its territory.  
  
Hermione led us all to the very far end of the Library which, judging by the levels of dust present, was very rarely visited. She walked along the shelf until she came to the volume she was looking for.  
  
"Magical Muggles and Evasive Elves: a complete reference to the more obscure members of the magical fraternity." she announced.  
  
"Do I look obscure to you?" I asked Harry, who seemed to be momentarily lost in his own world again. He looked at me and smiled, but instead of him answering or looking away, he held the glance for just a little longer than I'd have expected. A moment later, it was as if he suddenly realised he'd been staring and became highly interested in the scroll-work at the end of the bookshelf, cheeks reddening slightly.  
  
"Have a look at this, Liam," Hermione enthused as she dropped the book onto the desk, vortices of dust swirling up from under it. "'Woodland Elves have been thought to be extinct since the early tenth century, however their legacy lives on in Elf / Muggle crossbreeds. To the casual observer, an Elven descendant looks just like a tall, extremely fair-haired Muggle but closer examination can reveal the tell-tale signs: They have a fairly light build that belies the above-average strength they possess; they are extremely well co-ordinated with sharp senses and lightning-quick reactions; they all, without exception in the author's experience, have eyebrows that are a good few shades darker than the rest of their hair; they tend to be impulsive and passionate with a very quick temper and they they are quick-witted and most have a very firm command of language, allowing them to provoke reaction in their chosen subject.'"  
  
"I think I can vouch for all of that," said Ron, rubbing his left arm where I'd caught him with the baseball bat the night before.  
  
Hermione continued: "'Woodland Elves also possess a unique mental focusing capacity, allowing them to perform highly complex spells and enchantments without the use of a wand, familiar, incantation or other aid. Whilst the effects of Elf Magic are broadly similar to Wizard Magic, the conception, induction, control and execution of such is a mystery to most Wizards. Additionally, the power and scale of a well-trained Elf's magic in the majority of magical disciplines can easily dwarf those of even the most accomplished wizard. Thankfully, although the majority of Elves are mischievous creatures, it is unusual for them to use their extensive capabilities in malice. Whatever you do, do not cross an Elf, much less threaten his family or friends, as the consequences can be - and usually are - catastrophic.'"  
  
Hermione swallowed, looking at me with a new-found respect.  
  
"Oh, great - now not only am I obscure, but I'm a walking catastrophe waiting to happen!"  
  
"So d'you think you'll stay here?" asked Ron. "I mean, it's quite some power you've got there..."  
  
"If I've got it. Remember the most magical thing I seem to have done so far is break that Malfoy kid's nose with my fist."  
  
"And indeed the laughter it produced was magical." We all turned to see Dumbledore smiling from behind his beard. "I can't condone violence between my students, but as Mr. Blackdon has yet to enroll I'm afraid there's precious little I can do." he sighed, eyes twinkling. "I see you have found my book Miss Granger - I was hoping I might refer to it in order to jog my memory. But, as you have found it first..."  
  
"Oh, no sir - please take it," she said, closing the cover, only then noticing the diminutive "by Albus Dumbledore" on the bottom of the cover. She smiled and handed it to the Headmaster.  
  
"Thank you. I'm hoping that I might remember an old friend of mine who may be in a better position to help our new friend. I shall drop this into the Gryffindor common room when I am finished with it. With Madam Pince's approval, of course," he added swiftly, checking over his shoulder. He leaned towards us, whispering, "I borrowed a book once without asking and received quite a nasty nip from it, not to mention the devastation it caused to my favourite pair of slippers."  
  
As Dumbledore smiled and turned to leave, I felt I had to make a decision about staying. I'd be at a boarding school: Away from home and under supervision almost twenty-four hours a day. On the other hand, if even a tenth of what Dumbledore had written about Elves was true, did I really have a choice?  
  
"Professor Dumbledore?"  
  
"Yes, Liam,"  
  
"If I decide to stay, am I, like, stuck here? I mean would I be allowed to leave if I wanted?"  
  
"Obviously, Liam, we'd encourage you to complete your academic studies here and, as such, we couldn't act as a place to stay for a few days and then meander off again. However, like any student here, you are free to leave at any time should you so wish."  
  
"And my parents? They're not the most rational people in the world..."  
  
"Would they be particularly averse to your leaving?"  
  
"Are you kidding? I think they'd throw a party!"  
  
"Then we can word a letter saying you've been awarded a place at a prestigious academic institution - which also has the advantage of being totally true."  
  
"It's a no-brainer then, really, ain't it? Where do I sign?"  
  
Dumbledore chuckled and Harry seemed especially pleased. "Harry, perhaps you'd be so good as to escort Liam to my office after Lunch, we can then get him sorted into a house. The password is Humbug."  
  
"Yessir," he replied, smiling at me all the time, though.  
  
==========  
  
"Where does he get his passwords from?" I asked Harry as we walked past the statue towards Dumbledore's office.  
  
"He has this thing about muggle sweets - he seems to really love them,"  
  
"Ahh... You know, I'm sure he's perfectly sane, but he does act just a bit..."  
  
"Mad? Yeah," smiled Harry. "It's his way of assessing people - they're usually at ease with him and think he's loopy, so they say stuff they might not otherwise."  
  
"Clever bloke, Dumbledore."  
  
"Mmm..."  
  
We knocked on the door to his study and opened it after hearing a muffled "Enter" from within.  
  
"Ahh, Harry, Liam, do come in and make yourselves comfortable."  
  
We walked over to his desk and sat in two of the three chairs arranged before his desk. Now I was hoping that our..."  
  
The office door burst open and a rather tall, blond guy came racing in. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Sorry I'm late," panted the bloke as he skidded to a halt beside Dumbledore's desk.  
  
"On the contrary, impeccable timing as ever. Still lacking basic courtesies in certain areas, though," chuckled Dumbledore.  
  
"Oh, crap - sorry - must remember to knock next time," he said as he began to regain his breath. He looked to be eighteen or nineteen, had shoulder-length, die-straight blond hair tied back in a pony-tail and a rather thin complexion, not dissimilar to my own... Shit - he must be an Elf too!  
  
He walked back round Dumbledore's desk to us and dropped into the remaining seat.  
  
"Umm, the door, if you wouldn't mind?"  
  
"Huh? Oh," said the bloke as he saw he'd left the door wide open. He turned slightly in his seat and held the tips of his middle finger and thumb together as if he were about to flick a fly from his arm, but instead flicked towards the door, which closed with a heavy wooden thud.  
  
"Right, now that we are all here, Harry, Liam, may I introduce you to Robernonoch Leh-Nahtu-ne."  
  
"But all my friends call me Bob," he grinned, holding out his hand to me. I shook it, still not quite believing how similar we looked. "Where did you find this one, Albus? He's almost pure Elf!"  
  
"He nearly killed and then promptly saved one of our pupils from a Death Eater,"  
  
"Joyriding?" he grinned at me. I nodded. "What car?"  
  
"S-3,"  
  
"Oooh - good choice,"  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "That's Liam Blackdon, and this is Harry Potter,"  
  
Bob leaned over me and shook Harry's hand as well.  
  
"Boys, I've asked Bob here to come and act as tutor in the ways of Elvish Magic for a select few of you. Although humans find the Elf way of doing things extremely difficult to master, the concepts are still sound and will help you enormously with the more conventional wand magic.  
  
"As Liam has decided to join the school, I think it only fitting that he be sorted into a house."  
  
"Are you sure that's wise, Albus? I mean he'll wipe the floor with the opposition," deadpanned Bob as he winked at me.  
  
"I'm sure we'll manage, Bob, but thank you for your concern..."  
  
"Do you still use that... Ooh! _THERE_ he is," grinned the Elf, leaping up, walking over the arms of my and Harry's chairs and then bouncing over to the bookcase on the far wall. He picked up a tattered old leather hat that seemed to grunt as he did so.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Sorting Hat," yelled Bob into its base. "It's that time of year again!"  
  
"Bob, do you think it would be possible for you to stop antagonising our sorting hat?"  
  
"Awww, but he loves it so, Albus." He tickled the hat under its "chin", only to get his finger bitten by the brim.  
  
He quickly drew his finger back, more in surprise than anything, before walking over to me and placing the hat on my head.  
  
"Not another Elf," moaned the hat in a reedy, tired old voice. "But if I must... Right then... Right! Well, we've got ourselves a standard Elf here, but wait... There's a little more to this one than meets the eye... Normally I' wouldn't hesitate to place an Elf, but you lad are slightly deeper than that... But I suppose overall, you're overwhelmingly GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
I peeped out from under the brim to see Harry looking more relieved than anything. Bob picked the hat off my head and was just about to throw it back onto the shelf James Bond style when Dumbledore caught his eye, and he proceeded to put it back gently.  
  
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Liam. Remember, the staff here, no matter what they say or how they act, are here to help you learn and better yourself. Your head of house is Minerva McGonagall and she'll act as your primary contact to the staff. Obviously, you may talk to any member of staff - including myself - in the strictest of confidence whenever you so wish, but I must warn you that I have a rather hectic schedule and as such may not always be available to see you."  
  
I nodded my understanding.  
  
"Good. Now then, I'm sure Mr. Leh-Nahtu-ne would like to get started on his lessons this afternoon..."  
  
Dumbledore looked over at Bob who was now fiddling with one of the many little gadgets and gizmos that lined Dumbledore's office and produced the continual buzzing, whirring and clicking noises that one could always hear. He spun round looking rather sheepish. "Yes, headmaster, of course," he smiled.  
  
"Excellent. Mr Potter, I'm afraid you're going to have to rescue Mr. Weasley from Divination and Miss Granger from Arithmancy in order to attend this class with Mr. Leh-Nahtu-ne - we'll see if we can't come up with a more suitable arrangement for Miss Granger at a later date but I'm under the impression neither you nor Mr. Weasley will miss Divination too much. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've been asked to London by the Ministry of Magic - I haven't been able to see them recently and they appear to miss the opportunity of boring me to tears with proposed legislation on exploding litter bins..."  
  
==========  
  
Bob was cool. He just didn't seem to give a shit about authority or formality in any way, yet somehow you just knew you'd never be able to get one over on him. He decided it would be good to start off by going through any questions we had.  
  
"So why are you so different to House Elves?" asked Hermione, who'd obviously been itching to air that question since reading Dumbledore's book.  
  
"Ahh, right - slightly sticky one, this," sighed Bob, making himself a little more comfortable on the desk he was sat on. He, like me, was dressed in black, but somehow he managed it just a little more stylishly than myself - a black, collarless shirt with silver buttons, black jeans and slightly pointy boots with silver buckles.  
  
"Quite when the House Elf came into existence we're not sure. Overall, there are four types of Elves.  
  
"House Elves like Dobby seem to have been a very weak, submissive race that was 'domesticated' by magical humans many ages ago. Cave Elves and Grassland Elves had it in for one another and were constantly battling between each other for land and overall supremacy - a war that only ended when there were no more of them to fight it. Physically, they were slightly shorter than your average Human and nothing special to look at.  
  
"Woodland Elves - that's us," he indicated at himself and me "-were indigenous to Norway but, as with most species, Muggles started to encroach on our homes. Thankfully it wasn't too bad in our case as to all intents and purposes we looked human. In a sense, that was one of the root causes for the whole Elf / muggle hybrid thing, and once that had happened, we seemed to spread easily across the globe.  
  
"Elf lineage is a funny thing, though, and the whole genetics debacle is even worse. In theory there's no way for a pure Elf to be born but the genes seem to wax and wain of their own accord - sometimes they become very dominant even with eighth- or sixteenth-Elf parents while others look totally human with very Elvish parents. I mean, you for example, Liam - you are as best as I can feel a hundred percent Elf with a few human traits. I'm guessing that your parents were fairly non-remarkable?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Well, if then for example they were a quarter-Elf, that would making you at best a fifty-percenter, but you're the full-on, real deal Elf - congratulations!  
  
"Anyhoo, I suppose I'd better start teaching you or something... Ugh, where to start?"  
  
"I thought you were a professor," blustered Hermione, not taking too kindly to Bob's prevarication or being dragged out of Arithmancy.  
  
"Well, I am, but each person I teach is different and needs a different starting point... I guess I'll start by going through why Elf magic is so different to Wizard magic. Wizards tend to use wands, broomsticks and stuff, usually combined with an incantation or phrase, in order to perform it.  
  
"The reason you do this is fairly simple, but you need to understand a little more about yourselves: The human mind is a Maelstrom of thoughts, emotions, ideas, memories and a whole host of other distractions. As a consequence, Humans need something to cut through all the mental noise to catch their mind's attention and focus it on the task in hand. For example..." Bob jumped off the desk and took two books from the nearest bookcase. He then placed them about a foot apart on the desk. "Here are two books. Miss Granger, I'd like you to take one of the books and open it to page fifty-eight without moving from your seat."  
  
Hermione pulled out her wand, cast "Accio Book!" to bring it to her, and then leafed through to the required page.  
  
"Very good indeed," smiled Bob. "Although Elves would do it like this:"  
  
He held out his hand and immediately the book floated into the air and, as it was travelling towards him, flicked to page fifty-eight.  
  
"No incantations and no waving lumps of tree in the air," he grinned.  
  
"So why do people like Mr. Ollivander consider wand-making to be such an art form?" asked Ron. "And when my wand broke, any spell I tried to cast went all over the place..."  
  
"That's because the thing that trained your thoughts - your wand - had been broken. In all likelihood, had you not known your wand was broken you wouldn't have noticed - it's not really anything to do with the wand itself.  
  
"Or at least to a certain extent - wands do have a natural ability to focus magical energies or whatever you want to call them, much in the same way a lightning conductor attracts a static discharge. Different people produce slightly different types of energy, and so the wand has to be 'tuned' to the owner for maximum efficiency - therein lies the art. Not a vast amount of use to your average Elf, though - the type of energy we produce seems to be foreign to wands. That's why, to us at any rate, they're just lumps of wood."  
  
"And what about broomsticks?" asked Harry.  
  
"Same again - they're just a focus for the rider's mind, allowing him or her to apply their interpretation of physics and magic to a physical object."  
  
"So... Elves don't need broomsticks to fly?"  
  
"Not at all."  
  
"Prove it."  
  
"What, like this?" Bob floated up from the floor for a few seconds, did a brief lap of the classroom and landed gently back in his original sitting position on the desk.  
  
"Wicked," smiled Ron.  
  
"It's all just based around mind discipline and what you totally believe - actually, no - what you KNOW you can do. For example, I KNOW I can turn that desk into a donkey."  
  
And he did so.  
  
"Or turn it back."  
  
The rather bemused looking donkey was replaced by the original desk again.  
  
"See? Easy."  
  
"Easy?" blustered Hermione. "That scale of transfiguration is highly advanced! It can take years to master something as complicated as..." Hermione was cut short.  
  
"Well, yes, if I was TRANSFIGURING the desk it would take an awfully long time. I just wanted the desk to turn into a donkey."  
  
"But isn't that the same thing?"  
  
"The end result is, yes - but the way of doing it is miles simpler. Elves can suspend disbelief and distraction and just focus on the outcome. Everything else just takes care of itself. Humans tend to be of the mind-set that they have to think in a complicated way to achieve something complicated, and that works for them. Elves are simple, so we do things simply."  
  
"So why exactly are we being trained if only Elves can do this?"  
  
"Well, its not just elves that can. Think about how wizard children behave - they have an innate magic that protects them from harm or acts when they get angry."  
  
"Like when I found myself on the roof of my muggle school and I didn't know how I got there?" asked Harry, remembering some of the stranger things that happened to him before he came to Hogwarts.  
  
"Exactly. As a child, you can believe in almost anything without proof. Your mind is not cluttered with the worries of daily life and so the magic shines through. Some humans have the strength of mind to regain that child-like clarity and innocence. Surely Dumbledore must have made you lot tea at some stage?"  
  
We all nodded.  
  
"He doesn't say a word when he conjures that tea-set - something the majority of wizards would have an extremely hard time with. He's using Elven magic."  
  
Even to me, wizard newbie, this did actually make sense. I mean, you wanted a table to become a donkey. Fair enough - just concentrate on the table becoming a donkey and...  
  
A very loud "Eee-orrrr" made everyone jump, not least Bob who suddenly found himself sitting on said animal.  
  
"Ha!" I laughed out loud. "Well fuck me - it really is that easy!"  
  
Bob grinned. "Yep. Definitely a true-blue Elf we have here."  
  
"Anyone else? Oh, Liam, d'you think I could have my desk back before it craps all over the place?"  
  
"Oh, yeah.." I concentrated on the donkey and realised I could see the form which it had originally been in, namely the desk, and kinda nudged it back into that form.  
  
The desk re-appeared exactly where it had been, cutting my donkey off mid-bray. I looked around the room, giving each object my eyes landed on more than just a cursory glance.  
  
It was as if everything had a story to tell, about where it had been and what it had seen. It all seemed very confused, but if I just kept it simple and concentrated on a particular facet like 'how old are you' the answer just seemed to float into my mind. Well weird.  
  
Not half as weird as looking at my new friends, though. It appeared that not only were they glowing but they each seemed as if they were wearing their hearts on their sleeves - Hermione seemed to just be shouting about how excited she was to see this. Ron too was excited, but he seemed to have a twinge of envy mixed in there, too. Bob's glow, a totally different hue to the others, seemed to shout pride at me, whilst Harry... Oh crap - that was definitely 'I want in your pants'. I popped a boner immediately and shuffled in my chair to try and conceal it as best as I could.  
  
"Strange at first, isn't it," smiled Bob.  
  
"You could say that," I gasped, trying to keep a handle on reality. "What am I seeing?"  
  
"Everything, pretty well - emotion, time, life, form - the whole lot rolled into one. Just think clearly about it - if you decide not to see it, you won't. Remember that when you go into the great hall this evening or it may knock you for six."  
  
"What's going on?" asked Harry, looking rather concerned.  
  
"Liam's just found out exactly what he is and is rather taken aback by it all. Each one of us interprets this to a greater or lesser extent - wizards call it empathy. Elves have that same talent, but on steroids. It's quite breathtaking when you first have it happen to you, although I must say this is the quickest a young Elf in my charge has ever picked up on it."  
  
"I'm gonna have so much fun with this," I grinned..  
  
"Oh, trust me, you will, but take a moment to think about your actions before you perform them." The jovial Bob suddenly went very serious. "Remember, you have the power to snap a man's neck at a hundred paces, incinerate a whole city or, quite literally, bring the sky crashing down about your ears - none of which are desirable. You have a temper - all Elves do - but you also have the presence of mind to control it. If you don't you can wreak havoc like no other being on this planet.  
  
"Above all, remember - and I apologise to those present for using this term - that you must respect the privacy, wishes and lives of lesser creatures. Don't underestimate them or think any less of them, either. We were an unpopular race due in no small part to arrogance. Just remember that."  
  
There was a rather thoughtful silence as I realised absolutely everything he said is true. I mean, if I could imagine it, I actually knew I could do it. My head felt light from the sheer feeling of omnipotence, a state I had sought to achieve amongst my peers at home but never managed to achieve. Thinking about it, I think my head felt light with the realisation of the responsibility I now had.  
  
Ron broke the silence.  
  
"Oh dear, Malfoy - you'd better remember the eleventh commandment: 'Thou shalt never piss off an Elf'," grinned Ron.  
  
"Anyway," exclaimed Bob, slapping his thighs as he got up, "time to see if any of you can knock this ping-pong ball off the top of this this loo roll without sneezing," he grinned. "There's no reason to start small as Liam has demonstrated just now, but it tends to help the human mind. First of all, we'll try without wands - still say whatever incantation you want to use, but I want you to keep your wands out of sight and have no physical contact with them whatsoever. And Liam - put your fingers out."  
  
I diverted my attention from my flaming fingertips back to Bob, who was grinning at me again. I shook my hand, extinguishing the candle-sized flames.  
  
"Damn, this is going to take some getting used to."  
  
"Hehe yeah - you ought to try the sex!"  
  
==========  
  
Sat at supper that evening, it was apparent that everyone in Gryffindor was now well aware that they had a real-live Woodland Elf in their midst. Thankfully, Hermione, Ron and the twins were doing an admirable job of fending off the majority of questions, allowing Harry and myself to have the first proper conversation we'd had since I met him.  
  
"This Elvish magic feels really weird," explained Harry, tucking into his Chicken and Ham pie. "I mean, normally I can just cast a spell and generally at least something happens, but this is just so different."  
  
"Well, you managed to get your ping-pong ball off the loo roll three times in a row - Ron and Hermione only managed one each. And I'm sure Hermione's success was down to Ron sneezing."  
  
Harry giggled. "I suppose so... I've just got so used to working with my wand, that's all..."  
  
A wave of raucous laughter rolled over the Great Hall from the Slytherin table, causing both Harry and I to look in their direction. Malfoy, looking far too healthy after his apparently brief stay with Madam Pomfrey, was pointing at us. A moment later, the table erupted in laughter again.  
  
"Bloody Malfoy," muttered Harry.  
  
"Imagine Malfoy's goblet is the loo roll," I smiled. "Imagine it in his lap."  
  
Harry smiled back widely and closed his eyes tightly.  
  
After a couple of brief moments there was a fairly loud 'clonk' and the sound of a large bench being pushed back hurriedly from the Slytherin table, along with a lot of shouting and cursing. Harry opened his eyes in shock and spun round to look.  
  
I got up from my seat and sat on the end of the bench next to him. "Well, the jug of pumpkin juice was close enough," I grinned. "Well done mate."  
  
The wave of laughter gradually went up as the other tables spotted what had happened. Unfortunately for Malfoy, he appeared to have been directly in line with the tidal wave of sweet, sticky pumpkin juice and was dripping with the stuff from chest-height down. He looked round furiously and, seeing everyone laughing at him, stormed out of the Great Hall, flanked by his two gorillas.  
  
"I'd call that a successful exercise,"  
  
"I'd say you were right!" 


	5. Hormonii in Extremis

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER FIVE:: Hormonii in extremis.  
  
After supper Harry, Ron, Hermione and I headed up to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione explained to me that it was at this time we were expected to do our homework assignments, but as the only one we'd been given involved ping-pong balls and toilet-roll tubes, the atmosphere was rather chatty.  
  
Harry was coming along fast in the control of his skill - he'd now given up using "Wingardium Leviosa" to hover his ping-pong ball and simply had to stare at it. After a brief moment, the ball would lift off the end of the cardboard tube, the tube would move aside and the ball would float gently back down to the table.  
  
"OK, variation on a theme," I grinned after the third successful demonstration.  
  
I climbed out of the exceedingly comfy couch which had been doing its best to absorb me over the last half hour and knelt on the opposite side of the table at which Harry was sat. A thought later and the table had sprouted a ping-pong net.  
  
"I dunno if this'll work, but we'll give it a shot. Try and imagine an invisible ping-pong bat hovering in front of the table."  
  
Harry frowned at me for a second and then twigged what we were trying to attempt.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"I think so,"  
  
"'K - I'll serve..."  
  
I chucked the ball into the air and hit it gently with my imaginary bat. It bounced neatly over the net and the volley was returned by another non-apparent bat. Harry grinned widely as he completed the shot. We kept this going for a good minute, gradually picking up the pace. Suddenly, Harry slammed the ball home. My bat leaped for the ball and just managed to tap it back over. Harry'd been expecting a harder shot and hence had to mentally dive for it. I thought he was going to miss and hence let my guard down, but the ball was successfully returned, causing me to miss altogether. Harry was chuffed with himself, as was I.  
  
Even though we'd not been leaping around, we were still quite breathless from the adrenaline and mental exertion of playing. We then also realised we had an audience.  
  
"Bloody hell - that was brilliant!" gasped Ron.  
  
"That's better, though," I smiled as Hermione hovered her ping-pong ball and tube, then expanded the tube, pushed the ball inside and then shrunk the ends down like a Quality Street chocolate.  
  
"By Jove, I think she's got it!" I hammed.  
  
"C'mon Ron, you try," encouraged Harry.  
  
Ron took a deep breath and stared intently at his ping-pong ball. After a moment or two, it wobbled, and then as if he suddenly got the idea, rose gracefully in the air. "Cool! I never thought I could do this! Wicked!"  
  
"Try putting the tube inside the ball," I suggested. Ron thought for a moment and then smiled. Leaving the ball hovering in mid air, we watched as the cardboard tube shrunk until it was slightly shorter than the diameter of the ping-pong ball. Hermione smiled even wider as a tiny little trap door on the side of the ball opened up, allowing the miniaturised roll to float in, after which it closed itself again. Ron then carefully floated the ball down to the table. Hermione picked it up and shook it and, sure enough, the ball now rattled.  
  
Much to Ron's surprise, Hermione hugged him tightly. "I knew you could do it," she whispered.  
  
Later on that evening, any slight animosities that Hermione and Ron seemed to have with me melted away completely. Soon, I found myself chatting with them as if I had known them for ages. Harry became more chatty also, joining in with the general good-natured banter.  
  
Whilst there was the odd bit of mickey-taking, none of it was deeply offending: Quite a turn-around from the sniping to which I had become so accustomed over the years with my own so-called friends. I could honestly say it was the most fun I'd ever had in an evening with other kids my age.  
  
I was regaled with tales of monsters that could suck the very living soul out of your body, dragons, trolls, flying Ford Anglias, basilisks, blast-ended skrewts, hippogriffs, pixies, phoenixes and, of course, the ongoing conflict with Lord Voldemort. At times the debate was heated and passionate, at others we were all reduced to tears through laughing so hard (the pinnacle of which had to be the Malfoy-as-a-weasel tale, which the others recounted with great relish).  
  
Eventually, though, we all began to succumb to the fatigue of such a busy and unusual day and decided to call it quits for that evening. Hermione gave us all a hug good night, but paid special attention to Ron before climbing the spiral staircase to the girls' dormitories. Harry, Ron and I climbed the adjacent set of stairs up to the top of Gryffindor tower, Ron looking rather sheepish with a distinct red flush on his cheeks, but pleased nonetheless.  
  
As we approached the door, we could hear fairly animated chatting coming from inside.  
  
"He's an Elf! My dad told me about them!"  
  
"Neville, Elves are three feet tall and iron socks! This guy is not an Elf!"  
  
"Seamus, he is, really! The house Elves aren't the only type of Elf."  
  
Harry smiled and pushed the door open. Rather unsurprisingly, the conversation stopped immediately. Seamus looked me up and down.  
  
"See? He's got to be six foot tall! No way is he an Elf."  
  
"Who's Neville, I asked?"  
  
"Me,"  
  
"Ten points, Nev - I'm a Woodland Elf. Good on ya, mate," I grinned back at him.  
  
"Ha! Up yours you cocky little Irish tosser," he grinned.  
  
"Take that back Longbottom," yelled Seamus amicably.  
  
"No way! For once I'm right and I'm gonna enjoy it for as long as I can."  
  
Ron and Harry exchanged sideways glances and ushered be between Neville and Seamus' opposing beds before the inevitable roughhousing began.  
  
"I guess that's your bed, then," said Ron, looking where his and Harry's had been moved round slightly and a clean, unclaimed one had been installed.  
  
"No way! You all get four-posters?" I cried in disbelief.  
  
Harry and Ron nodded as if that was a rather dumb question.  
  
"Cool!" I smiled. I noticed that my bag had been neatly placed at the foot of the bed. On opening the chest of draws next to my bed, I found the few sets of clothes I'd brought with me neatly arranged.  
  
"Who did all the unpacking?"  
  
"Probably one of the house elves," explained Ron. "There are loads of them - they do all the cleaning, washing and cooking around the place. Hermione wants to get them paid have a union and stuff, but all the Elves think she's mad."  
  
"Can I meet any of them?"  
  
"I'm sure you'll meet Dobby at some stage. He was the Malfoy's house Elf, but Harry managed to get Mr. Malfoy to release him."  
  
"How? I can't believe any Malfoy would give up a servant..."  
  
Harry smiled. "He didn't knowingly. I put one of my socks in a book that Mr Malfoy handed to Dobby to carry for him."  
  
"A sock?"  
  
"If the Elf's master gives him clothes, it releases him,"  
  
"Oh. Excellent!"  
  
"I dunno about you two, but I'm totally knackered," announced Ron, stretching and scrubbing his fingers through his hair.  
  
"Yeah, me too," agreed Harry, and subsequently started removing his robes.  
  
This took me by surprise initially, but soon remembered this was a boarding school and that the lads would, quite naturally, have to change in front of each other. This could pose a problem. 'Nah - fuck it,' I thought, and pulled off my T-shirt.  
  
As I undressed, I noticed Harry stealing the odd glance here and there. I did absolutely nothing to hide myself, rather enjoying the attention. As he undressed, I suddenly found myself checking him out too. He was not overly pumped, but had a very nicely defined bod. He let his trousers drop round his ankles and he gave me a really nice view of his arse as he stooped down to pick them up. I had to consciously drag my eyes away from him and continue to undress. Wearing just my boxers, I jumped into the bed which seemed as if it had just been warmed and pulled the covers up under my chin.  
  
Harry, instead of just getting into bed wearing his boxers, shucked those off as well and turned round, giving me a brief glimpse of his cock and balls. Under my quilt, my dick immediately filled out to its full six-and-a-bit inches and I silently praised whoever it was for choosing such a heavy quilt.  
  
Harry proceeded to pull on a pair of pyjamas and climbed into his own bed. Seamus and Neville had settled their discussion one way or another and were back on their own beds. Ron, it appeared, had literally gone straight to sleep.  
  
"Night, Liam,"  
  
"Night, mate," I replied.  
  
Harry picked up his wand from his bed-side table and pointed it at the large chandelier-like array of candles suspended from the roof. "Nox," he said, extinguishing them and plunging the room into darkness.  
  
By the pale moonlight that was streaming in through the window, I could see him closing the drapes around his bed, so I decided to do the same.  
  
Once done, I lay back in my bed and stared into the darkness created by the drapes, contemplating the sheer lunacy of what had transpired over the past day. Twenty-four hours ago, I was blasting some poor guy's nicked car round Derby City Centre.  
  
Now I was an Elf - or rather knew I was an Elf - and was enrolled in a school for witches and wizards! Man - and here was I thinking I was just your average, run-of-the-mill hooligan with little respect for authority and a penchant for driving recklessly! Shows how much I know...  
  
A rustling to my right made me jump.  
  
"Only me," smiled Harry as he pushed his head through the drapes.  
  
"Hi mate - do come in," I grinned.  
  
Harry climbed on to my bed. If anyone else had been wearing those pyjamas I would have laughed at them, but on Harry they simply made him look all the more vulnerable and - dare I say it - adorable.  
  
"How about a little more light?" I offered. I leaned over to the nearest bedpost and twiddled an imaginary dimmer, causing the insides of the drapes to glow more or less brightly, eventually settling for a soft orange glow.  
  
"It's totally effortless for you, isn't it," said Harry in wonder, more as a statement than a question.  
  
"The more effort I put in, the harder it becomes. But yeah, the magic's fairly easy as well," I smiled.  
  
It took him a moment to twig the rather less-than-subtle double-entendre, but smiled when he did.  
  
"So what's up?"  
  
"Can't sleep," he sighed. I shuffled out from under the covers so I was sitting cross-legged on my pillow, leaning against the bed's headboard. Harry watched intently as my torso was revealed to him. The covers on the beds were so warm and voluptuous that I'd shed the fleece and T-shirt I'd been wearing. The air under the bed's canopy was a lot cooler, though, causing my shin to dimple with goose bumps.  
  
"Did you really steal that car?"  
  
I nodded. Somehow the tone in which Harry asked that question made me feel very guilty about it.  
  
"It sounds so dumb now, but I was bored and showing off," I replied.  
  
"Why'd you do it?"  
  
I smiled dryly. "To make myself look big and clever, and to experience the thrill of escaping the police and... well, death I suppose. Damn that sounds so wrong now..."  
  
"It's really had an impact on you, hasn't it? The whole Elf thing?"  
  
"In all honesty, I don't see how it could not. It makes me feel sick to think what I could do. I mean, if I went off on a mad one, I could take out an entire county before I even realised what I was doing. That's really scary mate..."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"That you're scared. In a way, anyway - you realise the gravity of your situation. I think that's what makes me feel comfortable with you. There are some people here who hunger for power so badly they'd stand on anyone to get it, and do worse to keep it. I'm guessing that the word'll spread fairly quickly about what you can do and there are people who'll despise you for it."  
  
"This sounds like this comes from first hand hand experience."  
  
Harry nodded. "The selfish part of me is quite pleased you're here - it'll divert the attention from me a bit."  
  
"It's funny, you know: I've spent the last five years of my life doing nothing but seeking attention and showing off, and now that I can show off more than ever and get as much attention as I want, I don't want it."  
  
"Spoken like a true Gryffindor," smiled Harry. He snapped his fingers together and lit his thumb. "You have to admit, it is a neat trick though."  
  
"Hey, no fair! I'm the one with the flaming fingers!" I leaned forward and closed my hand around the flame, putting it out. I immediately realised I was now touching his hand, and lookup up into his eyes.  
  
Those beautiful green eyes... They stared back at me, glistening with hope and anticipation. I didn't even need my whole glowie-vision thing to realise that he was as eager to take things one step further as I was, yet just like me he was petrified that he might be making a mistake.  
  
Continuing to hold on to his thumb (figuring that if I let go the moment would be shattered), I leaned forward a little more until I was kneeling and gently pressed my lips to his for a few seconds before backing off.  
  
Initially I thought I'd made a mistake as I felt him tense underneath me, but as I opened my eyes and leaned back, I saw his eyes had been closed too and he was now wearing a gentle, peaceful smile.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said as his eyes eventually opened.  
  
"Don't be - that was lovely... You know, Gryffindor's are supposed to be brave and I... I've been wanting to do that ever since I saw you, and I just never had the guts to do anything..."  
  
"We've only known each other for fifteen hours or so - I think we're doing OK," I smiled.  
  
"It feels like I've known you a whole lot longer, though. I feel like I know you so well!""  
  
"That's a good thing, right?"  
  
"Absolutely!"  
  
"Well, I'm not sure you'd have liked me before today - I was a right arse, for want of a better phrase."  
  
"As we didn't meet until today, what bearing does that have on anything at all to do with us, right here, right now?"  
  
"Well, nothing I s'pose."  
  
"Exactly," he smiled, shuffling up the bed until he was by my side. "I get feelings about people, Liam. I can usually tell if I can trust them or not, and you're telling me without a shadow of a doubt that you're in the 'with my life' category."  
  
I swallowed. I suppose it was similar to the way that Harry 'just knew' I was being sincere that I knew exactly the same was true of him. The more attention I paid, the more endearing I found him.  
  
Even through his pyjamas I could tell that there was quite a well defined body hiding under the slightly shy exterior, but that paled in comparison to the actual person with which I was talking.  
  
"Do you want to try that again?" I croaked.  
  
"Oh yeah," he smiled.  
  
"May I take off your glasses?"  
  
He nodded his approval whilst breathing heavily and I gently removed them, hooking them safely over the top of the headboard. The face that looked back at me looked just as beautiful as before, although now the slight laugh-lines at the corners of his eyes were more immediately visible.  
  
This time, Harry leaned into me and kissed me square on the lips. I'd snogged a few girls before, but they were very much classed as trophies in my mind without a single one of them being anything more. As a consequence, kissing Harry with the reenforcement of the emotions I was experiencing came as a not-unpleasant shock. I grunted my approval, opening my mouth in the process. Both feeling the need to, our tongues soon met in the middle. We both smiled as they tried to fight their way past into the other's home turf.  
  
I very suddenly twigged that I needed to breathe and after a brief moment of trying to remember how it's generally done, I employed my nose for the purpose, allowing the kiss to continue. It has to be said that in general I don't notice how a person smells unless it's remarkably bad. When you've got your nose mashed against someone else's cheek, though, you can't avoid but smell them. What a brilliant concept! To me, Harry smelled wonderful - clean skin with just a hint of the hormones that were presently driving his tongue as far into my mouth as he could feasibly get it.  
  
Quite obviously, this had a very base effect on both of us, and when we eventually came up for air, we shyly admired the bulges that had developed in our respective laps. Oh so gently I ran my hand down from Harry's neck (where it had found itself during our kiss) down the side of his taught tummy and onto his hip. My heart was racing in my chest as I looked into his eyes that now seemed to desperately implore me to continue.  
  
Even if I had wanted to I could not have disobeyed that look. With a wavering hand, I moved along the soft material of his pyjamas that were now stretched out between his hip and the tip of his dick. On getting to the summit, my fingers encountered a slight damp spot which I traced around gently. This caused Harry to draw a very long, deep breath and arch his back, pushing himself into the palm of my right hand. As my fingers closed round his hardness, my left had found its way under his PJ top and was moving towards the drawstring of the trousers. A gentle tug later and the waistband went limp, allowing that hand to move down further.  
  
My own dick twitched with excitement as my fingers encountered a small but dense patch of pubic hair before coming into contact with the base of his dick itself. Whilst continuing the circular motions with my right hand, I wrapped my left around him and stroked gently but firmly all the way up its length until I could feel the bunch of foreskin that told me he was uncircumcised.  
  
Harry buried his face into my neck and kissed and sucked at my neck. As he exhaled, his breath running over the back of my neck caused me to shiver once again. I pulled my hand back down the length of his dick and started to wank him off.  
  
He groaned into my neck as he began thrusting into my hand, quite rapidly approaching his climax. He bucked into me twice very strongly and bit down quite pleasurably on my neck. A second later, I felt pulses of his cum squirt through his flimsy pyjamas onto my right hand whilst the remainder dribbled down his shaft onto my left.  
  
I continued to stroke him, but more gently now. He trembled a couple more times in aftershocks and his breathing became deeper and more regular than the rapid, desperate gasps he had been taking. He shuffled around a bit and pulled back from by neck.  
  
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," he whispered, looking ever so upset.  
  
"What on earth for?"  
  
"I bit you."  
  
"I liked it."  
  
"You did?"  
  
I nodded. "Never had a love bite before."  
  
Harry's already red face blushed a little harder. As if sitting in another boy's bed with his hand in your kegs wasn't a blush-able proposition to start with...  
  
I gently pulled my hand from his PJs and examined the rather copious quantity of cum that was smeared all over it. If he wasn't blushing much before, he was now turning beet red. More out of curiosity than anything, I sniffed my hand. It was as if I'd just taken a hit of something - my head reeled from the scent - it smelled like sex and Harry's own scent, but a whole lot stronger. Unable to stop myself, I looked directly into his deep green eyes and licked a large bead of his cum from my hand.  
  
I'm not even going to try and articulate how he tasted to me at that moment - suffice it to say it was like liquid attraction: all of Harry's feelings towards me packaged in taste - a practical example of synesthesia...  
  
I conscientiously licked as much of his cum from my hands as I could manage, keeping it in my mouth to savour the taste. What surprised me then was Harry clamping his lips over mine once again combined with him sliding a hand through the flies of my boxers and manoeuvring my stiffy into the open. I'd love to boast by saying I lasted a good half hour under his ministrations, but in reality I guess I lasted less than a minute. I ran my fingers through his scruffy black hair as he jerked me frantically, sucking his own cum from my mouth as he did so. All I could do was squeeze him tightly to me as I exploded into his hand, sending squirt after squirt of cum along his forearm.  
  
I eventually managed to calm down and opened my eyes to see him smiling at me broadly. He gave me a final squeeze which made my breath catch in my throat before bringing his hand up to his nose, repeating the action I'd taken.  
  
The taste of my own cum was one to which I was already rather accustomed, however to have it both coming from Harry's mouth and intermingled with his own had to be one of the most sensual experiences I'd experienced to that point.  
  
Gently, we both lay back on to the bed, cradling each other and sharing the odd kiss.  
  
"Looks like we made quite a mess," he smiled, surveying his sticky pyjamas and my cum-slicked dick that was still hanging out of the flies of my boxers.  
  
"Worth it, though."  
  
"Definitely."  
  
I kissed him on the nose which made him giggle. "It's the first time I've ever done that with someone else," he admitted.  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Really? I'd somehow imagined that you'd have done a load more..."  
  
"Nah - never really appealed to me with girls and if you even gave a sniff of being gay to my 'mates' they'd tear you a new arsehole."  
  
"They sound like a really nice lot, your mates."  
  
"Oh yeah, pillars of the community, the lot of 'em," I smiled.  
  
"I guess we'd better get cleaned up," suggested Harry.  
  
"No problem," I smiled, waving a hand over our mid-sections. Harry found himself wearing a clean pair of PJs and I'd got fresh boxers.  
  
"Would you mind if I stayed here tonight? I've, uh, never slept with anyone before and if you don't mind, I was wondering if..."  
  
I lifted the corner of the quilt and allowed him to snuggle in next to me. He hooked one of his legs over mine and ended up with his head resting on my chest. As if I could've possibly refused him...  
  
With a bit of shuffling, we wrapped ourselves around one another. As we settled in, my hand brushed over Harry's scar.  
  
Immediately my whole body went rigid as a searing pain ripped through me. My mind was deluged with images - a little cottage on a winter's evening, a young family enjoying a quiet evening in around the fire. A crowd of people in black cloaks with an evil glowing symbol looming over them in the sky. One hooded figure casting a spell against the father and then against the mother who was doing her best to shield her son. To shield Harry.  
  
I screamed out in panic as I saw the spell being cast.  
  
"LIAM!"  
  
I opened my eyes to see a very concerned Harry looking down over me. A moment later, the drapes round the bed were pulled back as Ron, Seamus and Neville came bounding over to see what was going on, all of them with wands drawn.  
  
"I... Sorry," I gasped. The pain had gone and the images were no longer in front of my mind's eye, but the memories were still there, as vivid as if they were my own. I broke down in tears.  
  
"Liam, what happened? Are you alright?" asked Harry. I forced a smile as I could see Harry was seriously concerned and, from what I had just seen, the last thing I wanted to do was add to his emotional burden.  
  
"I... I'm OK... Harry, I saw what happened... I saw your mum and dad and you and your house and those people... Harry, I saw what Voldemort did and I... I thought you were going to die. I thought I was going to loose you..."  
  
Neville and Seamus exchanged a glance while Ron just raised his eyebrows.  
  
I swallowed. Cue cat legging it from bag... 


	6. Taken

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER SIX:: Taken.  
  
At the opposite end of the country to Hogwarts there was a rather grotty looking building. In that building was a rather decrepit looking room and in that room there was a Wizard. The Wizard sat in a high-backed, threadbare chair with his fingertips touching in front of his shadow-cast face.  
  
In front of him knelt another wizard, trembling slightly.  
  
"And so what happened to this boy?" asked the Wizard in the chair in an ill-sounding, rather high pitched voice.  
  
"He was hit by a muggle car, m'lord,"  
  
"So he was killed?"  
  
The kneeling wizard swallowed to prevent his voice from failing him. "I thought so."  
  
"You thought so?"  
  
"I went to check, but the car had stopped. The driver looked like he was only a child - perhaps fourteen or fifteen."  
  
"So you killed them both," stated the seated man, leaning forward.  
  
"I... I tried, m'lord, but..." spluttered the kneeler, starting to loose what little coherence he had left.  
  
"You tried?" he asked incredulously.  
  
"Yes, m'lord," replied the kneeling man, almost sobbing his response.  
  
"Then they are still alive?"  
  
"I do not know, m'lord. The muggle police were coming so I fled."  
  
"Fool," he whispered.  
  
"Please, m'lord,"  
  
The man's voice dropped dangerously quiet. "Time and again situations like this occur, and without fail my supposedly loyal subjects fail to complete the task in hand."  
  
"My lord, please - I... I shall never fail you again," sobbed the man, now almost curled up on the floor, shaking uncontrollably.  
  
"You are quite correct: You shall never fail me again. CRUCIO!"  
  
The moment the cowering man had been fearing came as his body was immersed in flesh-tearing agony. He thrashed and writhed around on the floor, feeling as if every bone in his body was being bent to the verge of breaking before ripples of staccato, stabbing agony snapped each one over and over in quick succession. As a wretched overtone to all this, all he was aware of was the sadistic laughter of Lord Voldemort.  
  
Just as he was about to loose consciousness, the pain stopped as quickly as it had started. After a moment, Voldemort spoke again.  
  
"Kneel before me, Malfoy,"  
  
Lucius Malfoy summoned every last ounce of strength and pushed himself upright, not truly believing his bones could withstand his own weight.  
  
"You will finish what you have started, Lucius," said Voldemort, the sibilants of Malfoy's name rolling off his tongue like a snake's hiss. "Find those boys and eradicate them. We can not allow the months of planning that has gone in to getting Dumbledore out of that infernal castle of his to be thwarted by something as seemingly inconsequential as two children."  
  
"I know where they live, m'lord," gasped Malfoy. "It will be done tonight."  
  
"Good. And ensure that anything you do does not involve Potter. Anything to do with that confounded child inevitably spirals out of all control. Do not fail me again or both you and your family will pay the price." Malfoy's breath caught in his throat. "Yesss," hissed Voldemort, seeing that he had hit a soft spot with Malfoy. "I will kill you all should you fail me again. Now get out of my sight, and woe betide you should anything... unexpected... happen."  
  
Malfoy bowed his head and staggered to his feet, still woozy from the aftershocks of the intense pain to which he'd just been subjected. Wanting to protect his family, he set off into the night to perform his task. Silently, he cursed Voldemort, but knew that he was in far to deep to be helped by anyone. With renewed resolve, he set off toward the Derbyshire Dales.  
  
==========  
  
"C'min," shouted Bob from inside his flat over in the staff tower. When he saw me and Harry, he leaped from his chair next to the fire and helped us down the couple of steps into his room. "What on earth happened to you?"  
  
"I was kind of hoping you could tell us," said Harry, the look of concern on his face still rather acute.  
  
Bob leaped in front of us and cleared the books and clothes off the sofa, allowing us to sit down. "So, what were you up to?"  
  
"What makes you think we were up to anything?" asked Harry defensively.  
  
"Come off it lads," grinned Bob. "You've been slobbering over each other ever since you met! You don't even have to be an Elf to see that."  
  
"Well, we were in the same bed," - I ignored the 'thought so' look Bob gave - "and I... I touched Harry's scar. I didn't mean to, it was by accident, and I saw... I saw his parents being killed."  
  
Harry squeezed my hand in reassurance that he was still there. I loved him for doing that - it was as if he knew exactly when I needed reassurance.  
  
"Harry, may I see your scar?" asked Bob, looking slightly concerned. The expression didn't ride easily on his usually jovial face.  
  
He nodded and brushed his hair back, revealing the darker, lightning-shaped glyph left by Voldemort. Bob knelt down in front of Harry and held his hand over it, gradually letting it get closer and closer. Just before he actually touched Harry's forehead, he pulled his hand away again, eyes tightly closed.  
  
"I'm not surprised you don't look too hot," said Bob, forcing a smile. "I think you're learning quicker than I can teach you. Ya see, Elves have a way of seeing events 'through' things, especially if they have a lot of emotions attached to them. Liam, when you touched Harry's scar, you were seeing the events that were attached to it - probably more, in fact - almost experiencing them. It can be a very overwhelming experience when you're not prepared for it but, with practise, you can make sense of what's going on. Which, when you think about it, can be very useful indeed."  
  
"So this could happen every time I touch anything?"  
  
"In theory, yes," sighed Bob. "You get a feeling though for the things that carry these feelings. Look at Harry: Sorry Harry - I'm gonna use you for a bit of a demonstration..."  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"See his scar?"  
  
"Uh huh,"  
  
"Concentrate on it. See the glow that seems more intense than the rest of him?"  
  
"You mean I look like I'm glowing?" interjected Harry.  
  
"Everyone does to an Elf if the Elf wants them to,"  
  
"Oh..."  
  
I could see what Bob was describing - Harry's scar seemed to be glowing in the same manner as himself, but far more intensely.  
  
"If you see something glowing like that, you want to prepare your mind before you actually touch it. When you've recovered a bit, we'll try some of this kind of work, but for the moment I want you to get some sleep. This will have shaken you about quite a bit: You need to get some rest."  
  
Bob made a slight flourish with his hands and conjured up a pair of steaming mugs, handing one to each of us.  
  
"What's this?" asked Harry.  
  
"An ancient Chinese infusion of leaves, lactose and sucrose."  
  
"Sweet, milky tea, then?"  
  
"Nothing better to calm the nerves," smiled Bob. "Tell you what, why don't you two love birds settle in here for tonight - it's nice and warm and away from the others for a bit."  
  
"What makes you so sure that we're... You know..."  
  
"Oh, I dunno - could be something to do with that lovely trophy on your neck," grinned Bob. He walked over to the large oak sideboard and pulled out a large red blanket and threw it over us. "Night lads - sleep tight."  
  
==========  
  
Later that night, or rather very early the following morning, I suddenly found myself wide awake, albeit slightly disoriented. Then it came flooding back - the memories of Harry's parents' death, Bob offering us his sofa for the night... Harry and I sharing ourselves with each other... I hugged the scruffy-haired teen closer to me. He mumbled incoherently in his sleep and snuggled into my arms. Gently, I kissed him on the head and allowed myself to drift back off to sleep.  
  
Little did I know that a couple of hundred miles away, the house that I had lived in for my entire life seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth.  
  
==========  
  
Dumbledore sat with Colin Creevy in a compartment on the Hogwarts express.  
  
Colin had eventually managed to settle in to his copy of Quidditch Quarterly and was avidly reading an article on rogue bludgers. Up until the point where Dumbledore managed to find said magazine in the side pocket of the carriage, he had been bombarded by question after question from Colin. Add to this the enthusiasm with which he regaled Dumbledore as to how much he was enjoying his work experience at the Daily Prophet and you had the potential for an exceedingly long train journey.  
  
Dumbledore made a mental note to drop past the Daily Prophet offices and have words with the editor about his staff putting one of his students in undue danger: They should do so more often.  
  
Now though he found himself idly thumbing through a rather dog-eared copy of the Daily Prophet he'd found next to the copy of Quidditch Quarterly. He really didn't like the paper all that much as sensationalism and scandal seemed to outnumber factual reporting by at least eight-to-one, however buried amongst all of the embellishments could usually be found at least some semblance of fact.  
  
Today's edition was more trivial than usual and so he shoved it into the arm rest where he'd found it. He pulled his briefcase out from under his legs and started rifling through its contents, eventually pulling out a large quantity of loosely-bound parchment.  
  
"Ministry of Magic - proposed legislation for the control of illegal enchantment, installation and commissioning of percussive, ballistic and incendiary public refuse receptacles," Dumbledore read, chuckling to himself. He found it extremely hard to believe that despite all of the evidence, the Ministry of Magic would rather busy themselves with laws about exploding litter bins than consider the return of Lord Voldemort.  
  
As much as he felt he ought to be reading this excruciatingly bureaucratic and petty document, Dumbledore's mind repeatedly wandered. He felt anxious that he wasn't at Hogwarts to personally supervise the education of the first true Woodland Elf to be found in over a hundred-and-fifty years and, just to add to the mix, he felt that something was ill at ease.  
  
Apparently it was Colin. He took a whole minute explaining the reasons why he needed to visit the bathroom and, after apologising for disturbing Dumbledore, left the compartment.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head in good-natured amusement, allowing his thoughts to return to more serious issues.  
  
Over his considerable life, Dumbledore had found that he usually had a good feel for things and prided himself on being able to make the correct decision. The one decision he had made that he still questioned, however, was that of placing Harry with his Aunt and Uncle for those eleven years.  
  
It occurred to him that allowing him to stay with another wizarding family such as the Weasleys - who he knew would have taken baby Harry without question or condition - may have been better for him in a pastoral sense. However, he found it extremely difficult to weigh that benefit against the detriment of him inescapably knowing the fate of his parents from a very early age and all the emotional baggage that went along with that.  
  
Even now, Dumbledore was acutely aware of the holes that Harry still had in his knowledge regarding exactly what had happened that fateful night in Goderick's Hollow. While the broad picture was there, the few details that were missing could prove shocking, nay devastating, to Harry and the relationships with his fellow pupils.  
  
'And then there's Liam,' mulled Dumbledore. 'I can only hope his gift takes its time in developing, if only to allow Harry's unexorcised demons to stay buried for just a little longer...'  
  
Despite all of this being chewed over by his mind, Dumbledore was still alert to potential threats around him. As ever, he presented himself with his usual calm, serene exterior, but the old man had become wise to the ways of the Dark and knew that to let his guard down - even for a second - was inviting trouble. Invited or not, trouble came anyway, but in a way he was most definitely not expecting.  
  
With a dull thud, a lump-hammer was dropped from directly above his head, knocking him out cold.  
  
In the adjacent compartment, Wormtail leaped up and down with glee. He'd done it, and more to the point it had been his idea. Dumbledore was his.  
  
==========  
  
"Morning, chaps," announced Bob as he threw the curtains back in his living room. "Lovely day for some sparring."  
  
My brain, never suited to early mornings, responded with the most intelligent thing it could produce at half-past six in the morning: "Mhrnnnngph...."  
  
Harry, who was beginning to stir also, hugged himself to me and pressed his morning stiffy into my crotch. "Morning," he whispered, planting a kiss on my cheek.  
  
"Hey, hey - none of that while adults are around," grinned Bob. "That kind of debauchery is scowled upon by this lot and I'm supposed to scowl on it too."  
  
He didn't seem too convinced.  
  
"How old are you, Bob?" I yawned.  
  
"Uh, how d'you mean?"  
  
Harry laughed. "I think he means 'how many years have gone by since you were born,"  
  
"Oh, uh..." he started to count on his fingers.  
  
"Shit, H, we're gonna be here all day!"  
  
"H?"  
  
"Oh, uh, Harry?"  
  
"No, I like H - no-one's ever called me that before."  
  
"A hundred and fifty-one."  
  
"What, months?"  
  
"Years."  
  
"No way!"  
  
"No, you're right actually - a hundred and fifty-two."  
  
"You're over a hundred and fifty years old?"  
  
"Ummm - I think so, yeah."  
  
"You're kidding - you look like you're eighteen!"  
  
"Well, duh..."  
  
"Why do you look so young?"  
  
"I'd have thought you'd have got this one by now, Liam - because I want to." He walked round the sofa and sat opposite us in his armchair. "I know I can look like I'm eighteen, so I do."  
  
"So, if I _KNOW_ I can look like a dog..."  
  
"Then you'll look like a dog."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah - although don't go trying it just yet - I need to explain some stuff about that."  
  
"Isn't that like being an animagi?" asked Harry.  
  
"Like the whole transfiguration thing - kinda. Same result but a whole lot easier to do."  
  
"Don't take this the wrong way, Bob, but is there anything we CAN'T do?"  
  
"In theory, no - you are quite literally limited by your imagination and your capacity to suspend disbelief. If you meet the limits of either, that's when you reach the limits of your power. Remember though that you can train yourself to believe the unbelievable and imagine the unimaginable. So it's fairly open-ended."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yeah, a bit hard to believe, isn't it," said Bob, smiling at the irony. "Anyway - I'm off to breakfast - see you there."  
  
"What time is it?" asked Harry as Bob closed the door.  
  
"Uh..." I looked round the room and found a rather mad looking clock that was watching it's own pendulum swing. It really did look rather nauseous. "A quarter to seven."  
  
"But breakfast doesn't even start until eight-ish..."  
  
"Well, you know what Bob said: 'None of that while adults are around,'"  
  
"You think he left us on our own on purpose?"  
  
I squeezed Harry's buttocks through his boxers. "I sincerely hope so - I can actually get a good look at you now."  
  
I pulled the blanket back, revealing Harry's body to me. He swallowed as I looked him up and down. "What?"  
  
"I... I'm just a bit nervous," he replied, shuffling slightly.  
  
"You're nervous after what we did last night?"  
  
He nodded and smiled at me shyly. At that instant, he was the best looking, most seductive person in the world and what's even better was that he had no idea. In the clear light of day, I realised my previous assessment about the light muscling was rather unfair - he had more muscles than I did, and God did they look good! He had nicely broad shoulders that looked powerful and from there his body tapered slightly to his waist. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him and his stomach was as tight as a drum.  
  
I, on the other hand, while not fat, lacked the muscle definition that seemed to come so naturally to Harry's torso. 'Skinny' immediately sprang to my mind, whereas Harry seemed 'wholesome' in every sense of the word. I suddenly noticed that he was now returning the stare, the shy look gradually being overpowered by what could only be desire. Confirmation of that premise was given by the rapidly expanding bulge in his pyjamas. I was slightly shocked that I could provoke such a reaction in such a handsome lad but, at the same time, was extremely pleased.  
  
Harry then took the initiative and stood up, the tent he'd pitched now all too apparent. With but a moment's hesitation, he hooked his thumbs under the waist and pushed his PJs down his calves. My mouth went dry and as best as I could tell I lost all command of speech and my motor functions. All too soon, though, the wonderful view of his midsection was obscured by his kneeling down in front of the sofa.  
  
Starting at my shins, he ran his hands up my legs ever so lightly, causing the few hairs that were there to stand on end. With very little ceremony, he hooked the tips of his fingers into the leg holes of my boxers and began to pull them down. I, not wanting to impede this process in the slightest, lifted my midsection up, which had the unforeseen effect of accentuating the profile of my dick against the thin material. Harry almost gasped and, spurred on by this, pulled my boxers down and off.  
  
For a long few seconds, he stared at my erection that was now bobbing in time to my heartbeat, fully engorged and leaking slightly at the tip. Then, with a simple mischievous glance at me, he lowered his head, extended his tongue and licked from my balls all the way up to the tip of my dick. I could only gasp and grab bunches of the blanket with my hands. It wasn't so much the physical sensation that was sending me nuts (although that had no small part to do with it!) more that it was Harry that was doing it.  
  
He paused for a moment as if considering the taste. My dick was now bucking and jerking for all it was worth which seemed to amuse him a little. He then put a stop to that by wrapping his right hand around me and squeezing fairly hard. He then pulled my hardon perpendicular to my horizontal body and rolled my foreskin back, exposing the glistening head.  
  
Once again, he extended his tongue and licked the inverted 'V' on the underside of my dick. It appeared that Harry very quickly took a liking to this as he started to lick all of my dickhead in earnest. This very soon led to him wrapping his lips around it, and then to giving me a proper, full-on suck.  
  
As I watched my dick disappear repeatedly into his mouth, I could feel myself rapidly loosing control.  
  
In between heavy breaths and grunts, I did my best to warn him of my impending climax. His only response to this was to start sucking harder, adding a gentle head-bobbing action to the battery of motions I was presently assailed with.  
  
I now had absolutely no way of preventing or impeding the onset of my orgasm. It was all I could do to stop myself from ripping large chunks of stuffing out of Bob's couch. I threw my head back and thrust my pelvis into Harry's wonderfully warm and welcoming mouth and unloaded shot after shot of cum. Even as the spurts turned to dribbles which too dried up, I was still caught in throes of ecstasy and Harry, bless his cotton socks, stayed with every last squirt, buck, jerk and moan I threw at him.  
  
When I eventually calmed down, he sucked up the length of my dick once more before his lips left the end with a pop.  
  
I released the abused couch and reached instead for him, pulling him up the length of my body. I ran my fingers through his perpetually tousled hair. As he lowered himself on to me I wrapped myself around him. I kissed him deeply to find him beginning to thrust against me, his dick now rubbing urgently along side my own. I pulled his hips harder against me with my legs in time with his thrusting.  
  
I also let my hands rove around his back, and then gradually lower until I came into contact with his powerful haunches. Harry's kisses became more urgent as he approached his own well-deserved orgasm, almost grunting down my throat with each thrust. As he had done last night, he then switched from kissing to nuzzling my neck, which soon turned to gentle nips amongst the kisses. With a final Herculean thrust, I felt his dick buck and pulse as jet after jet of his sticky white cum was expelled between us.  
  
I kissed his neck and squeezed him all over once more before allowing him to move.  
  
"I thought I was going to get to suck you," I whispered into his ear.  
  
As his panting slowed, he finally managed to formulate a response. "You'll have plenty of time for that, I promise," he smiled.  
  
We stayed glued together for a few more minutes before I got cramp in my left calf. Harry was initially disturbed by my ooh-ing and ow-ing, thinking that there was something very wrong, but the concern soon turned to amusement as I wiggled out from underneath him and started leaping about, totally naked, clenching my upper leg.  
  
I ended up with my back to him, both hands massaging the lower part of my left leg. Harry just sat on the sofa idly playing with his softening dick. "Lovely view," he smiled. I then realised that my bent-double position gave him a birds-eye view of my arsehole. I stood up, blushing hard, but soon collapsed as the cramp kicked back in again.  
  
You see? Elegant to the last. 


	7. Of Poles and Prisoners

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN:: Of poles and prisoners.  
  
After Harry eventually managed to overcome his amusement (bastard) at seeing me thrash around on the floor, he spent five rather pleasurable minutes rubbing and kneading the knots out of my muscle. By the end of it, both of us had 'misplaced' a hand here or there with the consequence that we were both highly aroused again.  
  
However, time was against us and we decided that we had better get down to breakfast before we were missed. Or worse, if Bob decided that we'd had enough time and came back to turf us out of his quarters. While I didn't care if he knew every sordid little detail of what we got up to, I certainly didn't want him to see Harry and myself with boners feeling each other up.  
  
This time it was Harry that fitted us both out with clean kit. Much to my amusement, he saw fit to produce a set of Hogwarts robes for me, complete with the appropriate uniform trousers, shirt and jumper with the Gryffindor-coloured neck. Harry gave me the once-over and, after a slight adjustment to the crotch of the trousers ("there - that's a little more flattering!") we set off for breakfast, both of us with a bounce in our steps.  
  
We turned the corner onto the fourth floor corridor only to have a water bomb full of ink land just in front of us, soaking our trouser legs with bright blue ink.  
  
"Bugger! Missed!" swore Peeves, circling around over the stairwell, arms loaded with water bombs.  
  
"Peeves!" yelled Harry. "These were fresh on this morning."  
  
"Better make them fresh off then, hadn't you?" he cackled, reloading and throwing another volley at us.  
  
"Right, I've had enough of this," I muttered, and took a running leap over the bannister. Both Peeves and Harry yelled in shock, Harry as he thought I was going to plunge four floors and meet the cold, hard stone of the entrance hall at a rather nasty speed, and Peeves as he simply wasn't used to pupils going for him, especially when he was hovering more than forty feet from the ground.  
  
As I leapt, I knew two things. One, if I missed I would simply fly around over the stairwell, and two, that if Peeves was stupid enough to assume I'd fall straight through him, he'd have another thing coming.  
  
He was stupid, and as such stayed exactly where he was.  
  
With a bizarre screeching squeak from Peeves, I grabbed a hold of what should've been his legs. He felt slightly clammy to the touch (hardly surprising considering his lack of life) but real enough.  
  
"Arrgh!" screamed Peeves. "It's got me! Gerrof!" and with that, he swooped down the centre of the stairs with Harry legging it after us on foot. If ghosts made comedy sound effects, Peeves would surely have been making that of a world war two bomber that had just been shot down. He almost cart-wheeled towards the floor, zooming madly from left to right in a futile attempt to shake me free.  
  
At the last instant, he decided to take a detour via the first floor corridor. I managed to get my feet back onto the ground, and ended up being pulled along the smooth stone floor at high speed rather like a water skier. We rounded a corner at a terrific velocity and sent Filch, the caretaker, flying as we zoomed past.  
  
All the time Peeves was screeching profanities at the top of his voice, attracting as much attention as he could possibly manage. After completing a loop of the first floor, we ended up shooting back over the bannister again and down into the main entrance hall sending pupils left right and centre as they tried to flee from our erratic path.  
  
Peeves then, for the first time during this escapade, had an idea. He decided to head straight for the wall. Luckily, I spotted what he was planning and a quick thought ensured that the wall would be as solid to him as it was to me. Moments before impact, I let go of his 'feet' and slid to a halt in the middle of the entrance hall. The sudden lack of load on his hind quarters caused him to fly head over heels and slam face-first rather hard into the now-impervious stone.  
  
I casually sauntered up to him, took one of the few remaining ink-bombs and rammed it into his mouth.  
  
"Don't mess with me," I smiled, and slammed his jaw closed, causing his face to pucker up with the bitter taste of the ink.  
  
Harry raced up to me, out of breath from legging it down the stairs, and promptly burst into laughter when he saw the state Peeves was in.  
  
"Now that," he panted, "was cool!"  
  
"Mr Blackdon," came the nasal, greasy voice from behind me. "It is not a custom here to create such a fracas on one's second day. As you are new here and hence are no doubt still learning the school rules, I shall be lenient and only deduct ten points from Gryffindor."  
  
Snape's attention turned to Harry and his ink-stained lower half. "Mr Potter, ten points from Gryffindor for wearing dirty trousers. We have a laundry service here for a reason - may I suggest you make yourself acquainted with it..."  
  
I was just about to retort to that when Harry elbowed me in the ribs. "Yes sir," he answered meekly.  
  
Just then, Bob came strolling out of the Great Hall, still munching on a croissant.  
  
"Oh crap! What happened to Peeves?" he asked, snorting flakes of the pastry everywhere as he tried to contain his laughter.  
  
"It would appear that two of your students have been a little more than reckless in the use of their talents," oozed Snape. "Now if you will excuse me, I must inform Mr. Filch that there is a rather extensive cleaning job to be undertaken." And with that, he stormed off, robes billowing behind him.  
  
"Well done, guys," smiled Bob after snape was out of earshot. "Twenty points for giving that bloody poltergeist a comeuppance he'll never forget." And with that, he popped the remnants of the croissant into his mouth and continued on his way to the stairs. "Nine AM sharp - out on the lawn by the lake. Be so good as to let Ron and Hermione know as well, would you?" He mumbled over his mouth full of croissant before jogging up the stairs.  
  
"Outside? I wonder what he's got lined up for us now?"  
  
"Well, he did say something about sparring this morning, didn't he?" I replied as Peeves began to pick himself up.  
  
"Oh, yeah... Never heard dueling called that before, though."  
  
"Perhaps it's not dueling..."  
  
We both kinda shrugged at each other and meandered into the great hall where Hermione, Ron, Seamus and the twins were chatting away happily. I happened to glance over at the Slytherin table to see Malfoy scowling at me. I smiled back at him cordially, which only served to annoy him further.  
  
"Morning all," I smiled as Harry and I sat down next to each other opposite Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Are you two OK?" asked Ron. "I wasn't sure what happened to you after last night."  
  
"No, we're fine, honestly," replied Harry. "One of Liam's gifts just made an appearance and took him by surprise, that's all."  
  
"That must've been one powerful gift," said Hermione. "What happened?"  
  
"Well, we were in bed and I managed to touch Harry's scar by accident and..."  
  
"You were in the SAME bed?"  
  
"Well, yeah, we were... uh..."  
  
"Just talking." interjected Ron before burying his head in his goblet of pumpkin juice.  
  
"Yeah, uh - and when I touched it, I saw Harry's parents... You know..."  
  
"Oh," said Hermione, calming down quite a bit. "Yes, I can see how that would take you by surprise."  
  
There was a moment's uneasy silence before Ron kick-started the conversation again: "So what was all that noise just now?"  
  
"Liam got one over on Peeves," smiled Harry.  
  
"You did what?" asked both of the twins.  
  
"Peeves was throwing ink bombs at us. Harry expressed his displeasure very politely I thought, but he just chucked another load of them at us, so I decided to do something about it," I explained.  
  
"But he's a ghost? What could you do to him?"  
  
"He leapt over the railing and grabbed on to him," grinned Harry.  
  
"You grabbed hold of Peeves?" asked George, not quite believing what was going on.  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"No way!"  
  
"Go and have a look if you want. He looked pretty groggy after he hit the wall."  
  
The twins looked at each other and scrambled out from their place at the table.  
  
"Did Bob tell you what we were going to be doing today?" asked Ron as his brothers ran down the Great Hall to the entrance hall.  
  
"Oh, well, he said to meet him out on the lawns by the lake after breakfast."  
  
"Any ideas what for?"  
  
"Well, he did mention sparring,"  
  
"Sparring? As in fighting?" asked Hermione looking slightly worried.  
  
"Cool," smiled Ron. Hermione shot him a disapproving look.  
  
"I guess so," I replied. "He wasn't exactly being specific."  
  
"In 'Magical Muggles and Evasive Elves' it does mention Elves and hand-to-hand combat, but I didn't think that it meant they still did it."  
  
"As I say, I dunno, but it does sound rather like it."  
  
The Weasley twins were now walking back up the hall, smiles plastered to their faces. As they approached our end of the table, Fred extended his hand.  
  
"Liam, I want to congratulate you on doing something that we have never been able to do. Not through lack of trying, I hasten to add..."  
  
I shook his hand, smiling.  
  
"Why do you have something against Peeves?"  
  
"Well superficially, if you ask any member of the school they all have something against him. No matter who you are at one time or another he'll have dropped a dung bomb on you, made you slip over, made so much noise at night you can't get any sleep... But no, for us it's a little more personal,"  
  
Where Fred left off, George continued. "You see, Peeves presently has the top spot in the trouble-making league tables. We want that accolade. We're a close second, I'll admit, but we're still not Filch's enemy number one. We want to start up a joke shop,"  
  
"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," interjected Fred  
  
"Yeah, and we need to be able to put Zonko's out of business. Now, how good can we be if we're being out-pranked by a bloody poltergeist?"  
  
"I see... I think," I smiled.  
  
"Anything further you've got planned against Peeves, we want in," Fred grinned.  
  
"Deal."  
  
==========  
  
"So where is he then?"  
  
"He did say nine, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure he did..."  
  
We were standing by the great lake next to a pile of what looked like a mixture of fencing gear and body armour.  
  
"Sorry I'm late," called Bob as he walked round the side of the lake, carrying a load of mops under his arms. "I had to try and borrow these off Mr. Filch."  
  
"Try and borrow?"  
  
"Well, he said no, so I had to steal them."  
  
"Bob!" said Hermione, looking affronted.  
  
"Don't worry, Herm, I'll give 'em back," he grinned as he dumped six mops in front of us. "And besides, they're not mops now, they're sparring aids."  
  
"Right..." said Ron, not looking a hundred percent convinced.  
  
"OK, I suppose I'd better explain what's going on here. All of this mad spell casting and wand waving is all well and good until it comes to an opponent that's just as quick-witted as you - or perhaps even quicker than you - when it comes to magic. Now I know there aren't a vast number of pupils that that can outclass you, but it can occur and that's when the use of physical... umm... persuasion can give you the upper hand. Even if the most powerful wizard casts a spell at you, if you're not where he..." he caught a look from Hermione. "or SHE - expected you to be, then you've already won.  
  
"Liam, I believe you demonstrated this when you were placed against Mr. Malfoy in Professor Snape's Dueling class..."  
  
Ron sniggered as he remembered the look on Malfoy's face as his spells failed to stop me.  
  
"Now, we just need our final participant to arrive... Professor Snape feels that he needs to be put on a level playing field with you, Liam... Ahh - here he is."  
  
To my surprise and, I must say, dismay, we all saw Malfoy striding over the lawns towards us.  
  
"Oh crap," said Ron, kicking his rather tatty shoe into the ground in frustration.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, so good of you to join us," smiled Bob.  
  
"Sir," nodded Malfoy in grudging respect.  
  
"Right then - everyone take a mop and get rid of the head - we hopefully won't be needing those today... Oh, and you might want to shorten it a bit - about four feet long would be good."  
  
Harry, Hermione, Bob, Ron and myself just looked at the heads of the mops and watched them drop on to the floor leaving a smooth, rounded end.  
  
Malfoy, on the other hand, had the head of his mop wedged in the ground and, holding the other end, stamped on it and snapped the pole to length.  
  
"Good. Now, if you were Japanese and into all of that Samurai stuff, we'd call what we're about to start a Kata. However, we're not, so I'm going to call it 'a stupid looking exercise in waving a piece of tree around and making yourself look like an idiot'."  
  
"You shouldn't have too much trouble with that one then, should you Weasley?" smirked Malfoy. Ron scowled back at him, but didn't rise to the taunt.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy - less wise cracks and more attention, please - you may actually learn a way of preventing any further broken noses..."  
  
Ron spluttered a badly restrained laugh, but Bob purposely ignored him. "The idea is to get a feel for the weight, length and dynamic of the pole you're holding" - Bob shot Harry and myself a mischievous grin - "so you know how it's going to behave when you throw it around. Now I must underline that I'm not poking fun at the Japanese way of doing things - it works very well for muggles and helps you to stay concentrated, but for Elves it's a little unnecessary.  
  
"Right - I want you to spread out enough so that you can't possibly hit your classmates or their pole when you swing yours around, and feel free to take your cloaks off if you start getting a bit warm. OK - we'll start by just holding the pole in the middle and throwing it into the air and catching it again. OK - now with one hand... Good - and with the other...  
  
"Excellent. Now hold on to one end with your left hand and swing it anti-clockwise around your body. When it gets behind you, grab it with your other hand and continue the swing round to the front. Good... Now gradually increase the speed. Centripetal force will try and pull the pole from your hands, so make sure the faster you get the tighter you hold on.  
  
Bob continued this for about half an hour, gradually varying the exercises and offering tips and encouragement as he went. We all, including Malfoy, gradually got faster and faster, learning where the pole was most likely to go when released and how a flick of the wrist or a roll over the shoulders would modify the pole's motion.  
  
"OK," said Bob, panting slightly like the rest of us. "Good - now we'll start to put some of that together. We're not doing anything particularly vicious yet, but you might want to get some of this crap on," he said, indicating the padding.  
  
A few minutes later, we were togged up and laughing at the hefty but surprisingly light padding. Bob then went through a few more manoeuvres before pairing us off. Mercifully, he took Malfoy as his partner, removing any potential abrasion between him and us.  
  
Bob then took us through a load of defensive stances, about how to present the slightest aspect to your opponent and how to always keep your balance. Harry and I started off fairly sheepishly, but we soon found that we were keeping pace with each other. Harry had just executed a rather impressive defense that caused my mop handle to slide up his and over his head. I continued with the direction and came round a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, only to find he'd turned his side against me and had his mop handle running parallel with his spine, already blocking the blow destined for his back.  
  
He then managed to flick my pole out of my hand, sending it spinning into the air. With no thought other than to get my 'weapon' back, I found myself somersaulting over Harry's head, grabbing the pole and bringing it back down on his now outstretched staff, snapping it in two with a resounding 'crack'.  
  
Everyone stopped and stared at me.  
  
"What?"  
  
==========  
  
Dumbledore woke with a splitting headache. His first thought as to the cause of it was an exploding dustbin, but he very quickly put that aside.  
  
He found himself sat in a rather tatty armchair next to a feeble-looking open fire, barely established enough to sustain itself, never mind heat the room. It really was bitterly cold: The old man shivered.  
  
As he began to fully regain consciousness, Dumbledore became increasingly aware of a great many wards placed around the room in which he was sat - spells designed to incarcerate and subdue the occupant. Whoever had set this up had certainly been diligent in scope and intensity of their work to the extent Dumbledore found it quite oppressive.  
  
He found that both his briefcase and his wand were not in the immediate vicinity of him, but as the only source of light in the room was from that pathetic fire, he had to strain his eyes to see his own hands, never mind his surroundings.  
  
He lay still and listened for a moment. The only sounds he could hear were his own shallow breathing and the gentle crackling hiss of the fire's damp wood, punctuated by the odd snap as a spark flew from the grate, causing a little flurry of red embers to race up the chimney.  
  
Deciding that any attempted use of magic may well cause unpredictable results considering the quantity and power of the containment spells encircling him, Dumbledore resolved that the best course of action, for the moment at least, would be inaction and began to mentally prepare himself for whatever he would have to encounter.  
  
==========  
  
Professor McGonagall re-read the letter that she had just received from the Ministry of Magic for the fifth time with a stern - albeit slightly shocked - expression on her face.  
  
'Dear Professor McGonagall, 'I'm writing to enquire about the whereabouts of Professor Dumbledore as he has missed his 9AM meeting and enquiries made with the Leaky Cauldron show that he did not make use of the room the Ministry so graciously provided. 'If you are indeed in communication with him, please impress upon him the importance of his attendance at future council meetings. Yours Faithfully, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.  
  
Before he had left Dumbledore had, as he always did, spoken to the Deputy Headmistress about exactly what he was up to, where he would be and when in order that she may send him an owl should the need - whatever it may be - arise.  
  
It had been known for Dumbledore to vanish from the face of the planet for quite extended periods of time, but he would always let someone know that that was what he was intending to do. Despite his apparent care-free attitude, reality couldn't be more different: He never deviated from his stated schedule without letting at least one person know what he was up to.  
  
That person was almost always Professor McGonagall, but she hadn't spoken to Albus Dumbledore since he'd regaled her with his dissatisfaction regarding the Ministry in general and the Minister specifically over afternoon tea yesterday. He'd then gone to the Hogwarts Express with Colin Creevy and, apparently, had not been since.  
  
Professor McGonagall sighed and decided that it was her duty to try and piece together exactly what had happened to Dumbledore. As far as she was aware, the last people to talk to Dumbledore at Hogwarts with the exception of herself were Bob, Harry, and myself, so we were duly collared as we all walked up from the lakeside to the Castle, totally knackered and ready for lunch.  
  
McGonagall introduced herself to me and explained that she was head of house for Gryffindor, and congratulated me on becoming a member of her house. "However", she continued through her wonderfully thick Scottish accent. "I wish I could spend a little more time getting to know you, but unfortunately I have a more pressing matter to attend to:  
  
"I need to know if Professor Dumbledore happened to mention where he was going when he met with you yesterday."  
  
"Well, he said he was off to speak to the Ministry of Magic about exploding dustbins... He didn't seem too impressed by the fact."  
  
McGonagall smiled slightly. "No, Liam, I don't suppose he was. He didn't mention anything else?"  
  
"No ma'am."  
  
She sighed. "Well, thank you boys, Bob," she nodded cordially. Bob returned the gesture.  
  
"Is everything all right Professor?" asked Harry.  
  
"For the moment, yes," she replied in a voice that conveyed no conviction whatsoever. "Now go and get some lunch - those acrobatics you were performing must have got you working up quite an appetite," she peered over the top of her half-moon glasses.  
  
We turned and left her study and, as soon as we were out of earshot, I asked Harry "D'you think she meant the training with the mops or this morning?"  
  
Harry blushed bright red.  
  
==========  
  
"So what was all that was about?" asked Ron as we sat down to join them at Lunch.  
  
"Professor McGonagall wanted to know if Dumbledore had told us what he was up to. We just said that all we knew was that he was going to the Ministry of Magic to discuss exploding dustbins."  
  
"Has he gone missing then or something?" asked Hermione looking rather concerned.  
  
"She didn't say, but she didn't sound too convinced when she said there was nothing to worry about."  
  
"I bet he's off on one of his mad ones again," smiled Ron. "Dad says he once spent more than three months on the top of a mountain."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Nobody's really too sure, but he did say that he really enjoyed it."  
  
"Ah,"  
  
"Do you think he really is mad?" I asked.  
  
"Dumbledore? Nah - he just likes to make people think he is." smiled Ron. "Anyway, Herm and I are going to take a walk round the lake - see you in potions?"  
  
"Are we back to normal lessons then this afternoon?" asked Harry, looking a little let down.  
  
"Yeah, I think so. See you in a bit," smiled Ron, and off they sauntered, walking just a little closer together than 'just friends' would. Harry smiled at me.  
  
"Well, I don't know them all that well, but they certainly appear to be a damn good match."  
  
As Ron and Hermione walked past the twins, a very loud stereo wolf-whistle went up. Ron did nothing but give his brothers the finger and carry on walking.  
  
"So what's potions like then?"  
  
"Well, potions I suppose is fine - it's just that Snape teaches it."  
  
"Greaseball?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Bugger."  
  
"Exactly. Doesn't really help that I'm crap at it too."  
  
"You're crap at it? I've never even done it before!"  
  
"Yeah, well, you're an Elf."  
  
"So? I can barely make a half-decent cup of tea never mind a potion or whatever."  
  
"Guess we'll make good partners then."  
  
I smiled. "Yeah, I guess so - at least we won't show each other up."  
  
"Nope - don't think there's any danger of that happening." 


	8. My Family and Other Animals

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER EIGHT:: My Family and Other Animals...  
  
Snape appeared rather preoccupied during potions that afternoon, failing completely to deduct house points from Gryffindor for our monumental cock-up with our soothing potion. Whilst everyone else's potions were a rather sweet-smelling, cobalt blue, ours was more an angry red and emitted a rather foul smell.  
  
Snape simply gave us an 'F' grade and left it at that, much to our relief and Malfoy's annoyance.  
  
"But sir, they've completely messed it up!" he complained, outraged that his apparently text-book-perfect example hadn't been singled out for credit.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, once you are qualified to teach this class I may take your criticisms of your fellow pupils seriously. Until that time, might I suggest that you concentrate more on not letting your own cauldron overheat."  
  
Malfoy's concentration snapped back to his own cauldron and he looked on in horror as it began to boil over. Despite his rather valiant efforts, the potion turned a nasty green colour and started to dissolve the desk.  
  
Snape looked most displeased as Malfoy's entire cauldron fell through the desk and landed with a clatter on the floor.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I wonder if I might have a word with you after this period is finished?" asked Snape. Draco winced, but Snape continued. "I have a message from your Father that he asked me to convey personally."  
  
Draco nodded in acknowledgement before trying to stem the flow of potion that had started to traverse the dungeon's floor and dissolve the soles of various students' shoes.  
  
==========  
  
"I wonder what was on Snape's mind?" asked Ron as we ambled round the lake in the low afternoon sunshine.  
  
"Probably the same thing that was on McGonagall's" I surmised.  
  
"I can't help wondering what was so important that Malfoy senior couldn't have just sent an owl," pondered Hermione.  
  
"To be honest, I think I'd rather not know," smiled Harry.  
  
"'Arry! 'Ermione! Ron!" came a rather gruff voice from the edge of the forest. I looked to my right to see a giant of a man waving energetically at us from the doorway of a very quaint looking hut.  
  
I saw Harry smile and change course to walk over to the hut, so I followed.  
  
"Alrigh' there 'Arry?" he grinned from behind his huge, bristly beard. "I've got sommat to show yeh,"  
  
"If it bites, breathes fire or is hairy and has too many legs we're not interested, Hagrid," said Ron, looking rather apprehensive.  
  
"Oh no," he smiled back. "I think you might jus' like this little lot."  
  
"Hagrid this is Liam - he's a new student here." introduced Harry.  
  
"Oh - pleased to meet yeh," smiled Hagrid, offering me his hand that was at least three times the size of my own - now rather delicate looking - appendage. "Now if I wasn' teh know better, ah'd a said you was Elvish,"  
  
"I am," I smiled back.  
  
"Really?" Hagrid beamed. "I ain't never met a Woodland Elf before. Folk say you can do some pretty amazing stuff..."  
  
"Well, yeah, I guess," I admitted.  
  
Hagrid chuckled. "C'mon - I reckon these little blighters'll get on well enough wi' Elves too."  
  
"What, uh, don't they get on well with?" asked Hermione, sharing Ron's apprehension.  
  
"Muggles as a rule of thumb, but this lot seem like quite a docile bunch."  
  
Hagrid pushed open the door to his hut and led us inside. On entering, all I could hear was a cacophony of growling and snarling. Expecting to see a whole herd of teeth-on-legs, I was more than pleasantly surprised to see a half-dozen puppy-like animals. They looked almost identical to Jack Russell puppies with the exception of a rather vicious-looking forked tail.  
  
Hagrid smiled down on them benevolently as he watched them rip one of his cushions to shreds.  
  
"Hagrid, what are they?" asked Ron, actually smiling at them. On subsequent enquiry, I found that Hagrid's 'pets' usually had a bad habit of wanting to cause actual bodily harm to Ron. These in the grand scheme of things seemed very tame for Hagrid. At least that was until Ron saw one of them bite clean through the leg of a stool that promptly fell over with a clatter.  
  
"They're Crups," smiled Hagrid. "Bit like a dog but far more cleverer. Very loyal too. They're one o' the few magical creatures the Ministry'll allow yeh to keep as a pet. Oh - Liam, I wouldn't get too close - they can be a bit feisty around strangers..."  
  
I'd knelt down and offered my hand to one of the Crups who was looking at me with sparkly eyes. He took a tentative step forward and sniffed my hand. The Crup then waggled its bum slightly and leaped at me, knocking me backwards more in surprise than anything. Hagrid came bounding over to wrestle the little critter from me, but soon started laughing as he saw him licking my face, forked tail whipping back and forth with enjoyment.  
  
"Well I'll be! Looks like he's chosen you there, Liam."  
  
"Chosen me?" I asked, pushing myself upright and starting to fuss the little bundle of fur that was mountaineering its way onto my shoulders and licking my ear.  
  
"Crups choose their owners an' stick with 'em for life - you've got yehself a new friend there now, lad!" smiled Hagrid, all teary-eyed...  
  
"What?" I asked, retrieving the Crup from between my shoulder-blades and looking him in the eye. He wagged his tail furiously and tried to lick my nose again. He was almost completely white except for the odd black splodge over his head and, it had to be said, incredibly cute.  
  
"E's yours now, Liam. When a Crup chooses 'is new master there's nothing 'e won't do for yeh, and you'll never be able to get rid of 'im neither."  
  
Harry seemed to find this intensely amusing whilst Hermione was too busy 'awwww'ing at the other pups and their mum to notice.  
  
I scruffed the little fluffy ball of teeth behind the ears, which he seemed to appreciate. I'd never had a pet before - it had never even crossed my mind in recent years - but I had to say that I quite liked the idea. The Crup also looked cool - there were more teeth in its mouth than a great white shark yet when he affectionately chewed my fingers he was very gentle.  
  
Crup it was, then.  
  
Ron surveyed the Crup with caution. It apparently fulfilled one of his definitions as Something That Should Not Be Kept As A Pet as he "has far too many teeth - what does he need them all for, anyway?"  
  
"What are you gonna call him?" asked Harry.  
  
I looked at the intensely messy hair and then looked at Harry and grinned.  
  
"Ohhh no..."  
  
"Monty," I grinned. "He's definitely a Monty. Aren't you?"  
  
Monty barked a bark that would've more suited a Labrador than a little terrier, taking us all by surprise.  
  
Hagrid chuckled. "Thing about Crups is that their bite is usually a lot worse'n their bark..."  
  
Ron pulled his feet up from the floor.  
  
After another few minutes of playing with Monty, Hagrid offered us all a cup of tea from a tea set that would've looked more at home in an iron foundry than someone's home. He took me through some of the things to know about owning a Crup, such as not letting it chase after things as they usually bit first and worried about what they were biting later.  
  
Harry and I couldn't help but laugh as every time Ron picked up a biscuit from the plate on the table, Monty leaped vertically from where he was sat and snapped it right out of his hand.  
  
After the third stolen biscuit, Ron looked at me in desperation. I whistled and patted the bit of empty seat next to me. Monty dashed up from the floor and crash-landed against my leg, wagging his tail excessively again.  
  
Harry, who was sat next to me, reached over to stroke him. Hagrid quite visibly tensed for a moment, obviously expecting the worst again, but much to his relief Monty simply rolled over and let him tickle his tummy.  
  
==========  
  
Later that evening, all five of us were sat next to the fire in the common room again. Hermione had dug out her copy of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them' and proceeded to read the entry for Crups.  
  
"'The Crup originated in the southeast of England. It closely resembles a Jack Russell terrier, except for the forked tail. The Crup is almost certainly a wizard-created dog as it is intensely loyal towards wizards and ferocious towards Muggles. It is a great scavenger, eating anything from gnomes to old tyres. Crup licences may be obtained from the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures on completion of a simple test to prove that the applicant wizard is capable of controlling the Crup in Muggle-inhabited areas.'" [1]  
  
"Doesn't mention the teeth, though, does it?" said Ron, employing his earlier idea and keeping his feet tucked under himself as he sat on the sofa.  
  
Monty was busy destroying an old towel that I'd given him and looked immensely proud of the mess he'd made. Once it was 'just so', he turned round in circles a few times to flatten it and then plonked himself down, gently snoozing in front of the wonderful glow from the fireplace.  
  
Interestingly, Monty showed very little interest in Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, when he strolled past. Crookshanks, however, ensured that he was well out of gnashing distance at all times, but other than that the two seemed to ignore each other.  
  
The dark evenings and murky corridors of Hogwarts always seemed to ensure you felt as if it was the middle of the night when it was in fact just past seven o'clock. As Snape had omitted to set us homework (which I was assured simply never happened) we were all at rather a loose end, so I suggested to Harry that we go and take a walk.  
  
Ron looked at Hermione, but realised she was far to engrossed in her book to want to do the same, so he did his best to sidle up to her.  
  
I gave a quick whistle and Monty immediately leaped off the towel and skidded to a halt by my side, looking up at us expectantly.  
  
"Bit eager isn't he?" I smiled.  
  
"Just like his owner," grinned Harry.  
  
We pulled our cloaks on and headed out of Gryffindor Tower and into the grounds.  
  
We'd barely cleared the front door before I pulled Harry to me and kissed him hard on the lips. After a brief moment, I let us part and smiled at him.  
  
"I've been wanting to do that all day," I admitted.  
  
"Me too," he smiled back. "I... I've also been thinking about what we did this morning and... well, I'd like to... uh..."  
  
"Try it again?"  
  
"Yeah,"  
  
His shyness and sincere innocence turned me on like you wouldn't believe, so I suggested we cut short our walk and beat a hasty retreat to the dorms. Harry agreed with me whole-heartedly.  
  
Without further debate, Harry and I about-faced and headed directly for Gryffindor tower once again.  
  
We made a suitably pathetic excuse to Ron and Hermione as to why we'd returned so soon and ran up to the fifth form dorm. On finding the dorm empty, we set about removing each others' clothing as quickly as we could muster. The drafts that regularly whistled through the castle, whilst adding to the whole mystical air of the place, also had the side effect of making most parts of it almost unbearably cold.  
  
Gryffindor tower was no exception, but the huge fireplace and heavy tapestries in the common room easily made up for it. In the very top of the tower, however, there was but a rather insignificant iron stove to heat the room and as it hadn't been stoked for a few hours it wasn't exactly throwing heat around the place.  
  
Stood in just my boxers, I suddenly became very aware of the cold, hugging myself and shivering. I was just about to will the room warmer when Harry asked me to let him try. Firstly, he raised the temperature in the room a good few degrees and then set the fire roaring up its flimsy little tin chimney to maintain it.  
  
I smiled at Harry's improving command of his magical abilities and hugged him to me.  
  
==========  
  
Over the following week, I found myself settling in very well to school life, which surprised me more than anyone as previously I'd managed to turn truancy into an art form. Now, however, I was actually enjoying classes and learning about the wizarding world.  
  
The weather, however, seemed to be diametrically opposed to my mood, quite suddenly getting colder and colder, bringing with it an almost continuous snowfall.  
  
Much to Harry's surprise, I elected to take History of Magic classes. Professor Binns, the ghost who taught the classes, appeared to be quite surprised that one of his few attendees was paying attention and initially seemed rather disconcerted when I started to ask questions.  
  
Gradually, however, he broke out of his monotone and began to enthuse about the people of which he was speaking which in turn piqued the interest of some of the other students as well.  
  
Harry had been right about Snape's lack of petty vindictiveness being an anomaly: He soon returned to berating all non-Slytherin pupils, deducting points for things like "sneezing in a disruptive manner" and "stirring without due care and attention", much to the amusement of Malfoy and his cronies. If the majority of these hadn't been directed at Harry and myself I too would have probably found the whole thing rather amusing. That not being the case, however, I simply had to resort to gritting my teeth and willing Snape's quill nib to break shortly after he changed to a fresh one.  
  
Monty too had settled into Gryffindor tower and was amiable enough to the majority of the students, the exception inevitably being Neville. He made the rather unfortunate mistake of thinking Monty's towel was his and tried to wrestle it off him. Monty took offense to this and every day since has dutifully chewed to shreds anything that smelled even vaguely of Neville.  
  
Aside from these little altercations twixt boy and dog, life was good. Harry and I, apparently having overcome the initial lust-period we felt for each other, found ourselves falling for each other more and more. At first, Harry felt as if he had to protect me from his past and his scar, not wanting me to share his emotional burden.  
  
I, however, would have none of this and the argument became quite heated at one point.  
  
"But you don't deserve to have my emotional baggage hovering over you!" Harry said, pacing up and down our dorm. When he was agitated, he ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly, making it even more unruly than usual.  
  
"H, look at me."  
  
He stopped and turned, frustration written all over his face.  
  
"If I was at all worried about having to deal with your past I'd have run a mile by now!"  
  
I stood up and walked over to him and rested my arms around his neck, allowing our foreheads to touch.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you, Liam. I've already done that once," he said, referring to my touching of his scar.  
  
"I've told you - you didn't hurt me, it just took me by surprise, that's all. I'd feel honoured if you felt you could share this with me. You know I'll do anything I can to help you and comfort you, Harry."  
  
I placed a gentle, lingering kiss on his lips and hugged him.  
  
When we parted, he was crying. I lifted his head and looked into his tear-streaked eyes. I could see he was torn between trying to protect me and letting me help him, so I took the decision on his behalf.  
  
I led him to the bed and lay him down. I then walked round the other side and snuggled up close to him. Carefully - and making sure I was ready for the torrent of feeling that was about to pour into me - I touched Harry's scar once more. Knowing what to expect made the whole experience far more metered and after a few seconds I found I could slow events to the rate I could fully understand.  
  
For the next three hours we stayed like that, holding one another, as I relived Harry's life.  
  
==========  
  
I woke up on Saturday to find myself inexorably entwined with Harry, such close proximity with him having a rather predictable effect on me.  
  
My stirring began to wake him and a moment later I was staring into his wonderful emerald eyes.  
  
"Good morning," I whispered.  
  
"Mornin'," he replied, flexing his muscles around me as he woke. I also felt him flex another 'muscle' that was exquisitely squashed against my own, and I shivered with pleasure. We shared a kiss that lasted a whole lot longer than I think either of us had intended, but neither party was about to complain.  
  
"Thank you," I smiled.  
  
"What for?"  
  
"For letting me in."  
  
"I should really be thanking you," he smiled shyly. "They say a trouble shared is a trouble halved - and they're not wrong..."  
  
I kissed him once more.  
  
"So what's happening this weekend?"  
  
"It's a Hogsmeade weekend," he yawned after we managed to separate ourselves from one another. "Want to go?"  
  
"Hogsmeade?"  
  
"Local village. A few shops and a pub - that's about it."  
  
"Not exactly SHOPPING shopping then is it?"  
  
"How d'you mean?"  
  
"We're in Scotland, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"A stone's throw from Loch Ness, right?"  
  
"Right.."  
  
"Now, I know I'm shit at Geography, but ain't Loch Ness right next to Inverness?"  
  
"Yeah, I think it is."  
  
"How long have you been here?"  
  
"This is my fifth year..."  
  
"And in all that time you've never been to Inverness?"  
  
"Well, no..."  
  
"C'mon, then," I said, getting out of bed. "We're going to go to Inverness."  
  
"Don't you think we ought to do something about that first, though?" asked Harry, staring intently at my midsection.  
  
I looked down and grinned. "I suppose you're right..."  
  
==========  
  
"I think you'll enjoy Hogsmeade more," commented Hermione as I aired my idea.  
  
"Really?"  
  
She nodded. "There's all sorts of weird and mad stuff there - it's worth having a look at least once. All Muggle towns and cities are the same - see one and you've seen them all. Besides, with all this snow it'd be rather difficult getting more than a couple of miles."  
  
I looked over at Harry. "We can always go to Inverness as soon as the snow clears up," he offered. I surmised that to be perfectly true and, as I hadn't seen a wizarding town before, decided it to be a good idea.  
  
We all nipped back to the Dormitories to retrieve our heavy winter cloaks as the sky looked more than a little foreboding.A few minutes later, we were all togged up and ready for the worst the Scottish winter could throw at us. We pushed aside the portrait hole and began the mile-or-so walk to Hogsmeade from Hogwarts.  
  
From four floors up in Gryffindor tower, the snow appeared as a light, fluffy blanket gently covering the countryside. The reality on walking out of the front door was somewhat different, however: The snow was nearly three feet deep in places where Hagrid hadn't been dutifully shovelling, aided by the odd charm here and there from any passing member of staff. It was truly awesome to behold and, living a lot further south, I had not really experienced proper snow.  
  
Ron and Hermione led the way, wading rather comically through the snow with an awful lot of giggling and falling into one another. Harry and I kept a respectable distance behind them, whilst Monty was leaping around like he had springs for paws, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of sinking three times his body height into the snow.  
  
"So, do you reckon they've... You know," I asked Harry, nodding towards Ron and Hermione who had ended up on top of one another in a conveniently placed drift.  
  
"What, like..." he nodded his head suggestively. I nodded in affirmation. "Oh God no. Ron'd be far to nervous and Hermione... Well, I just get the feeling that she wouldn't anyway."  
  
"Bummer,"  
  
"Or not," smiled Harry. "Hey, see that?"  
  
He pointed out a building half-way up a hillside on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. "That's the Shrieking Shack. My Dad and some of his friends used to hide out there. One of them was a werewolf, and so every month when he transformed, he had to leave the school. There's a secret tunnel that leads all the way from the castle grounds into its basement."  
  
I was starting to get used to taking the most arbitrary, nonsensical sentences as fact now, and I even managed to suppress the majority of my surprise and intrigue, although deep down it did still rather amaze me.  
  
"Cool... Hey, perhaps we could... You know, kinda use it as our own?"  
  
"I don't see why not," smiled Harry. "Shame we didn't come up with that earlier," he smiled.  
  
We carried on into Hogsmeade and, as Hermione had suggested I may be, found myself rather overwhelmed by the strangeness of a Wizarding town. All of the buildings reminded me of pictures from history books: they all seemed to be plonked in rather arbitrary positions with little or no regard for a street plan, whilst having roofs that started almost at ground level and swept two or three stories high. If Sir Isaac Newton could see them he'd have torn up his whole idea about action and reaction, such were the physical impossibilities of some of the constructions.  
  
We rounded the corner into a street that tortured the very definition of a high street. The biting wind loaded with snow whipped straight down the zig-zag alleyway, causing us all to involuntarily shiver and pull our cloaks just a little tighter round us. Directly opposite us was Zonko's Joke Shop. Through the brightly decorated window, I could see Fred and George talking in an extremely animated manner to the shopkeeper, who seemed to have a rather eclectic mix of enthusiasm and trepidation on his face.  
  
A couple of doors down was a house so thin that if it wasn't supported by its peers on either side it surely would have to have fallen down. Next to that was what looked like an office signed "Obscurus Publishing", out of which came a very hassled looking witch, clutching a large pile of parchment and cursing under her breath as the wind did its best to rip the papers from her hands.  
  
We all followed Hermione's lead into a branch of Flourish and Blotts, clenching our fists and blowing our fingers to try and get some feeling back into them. As we entered, a small bell tinkled somewhere in the back of the shop. A rather rotund, elderly witch hobbled out from the back of the shop and greeted us all with a smile until she spotted Monty.  
  
"I'm sorry, dear," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'm afraid we don't allow animals in the store."  
  
"He won't be any problem, ma'am, I promise. I'll pay for any damage," I added, hoping it might swing her decision. Thankfully, it did.  
  
"All right, but try and keep an eye on him - the last Crup we had in here destroyed a whole shipment of Lockhart books..."  
  
Ron snorted. "Not a major loss, then,"  
  
Both the shopkeeper and Hermione looked at Ron as if he'd just crapped on the carpet before they both wandered off in their own directions.  
  
"Now, you're going to be good aren't you?"  
  
Monty wagged his tail and shuffled a little closer to my leg.  
  
"Were you talking to the Crup or to Harry?" enquired Hermione as innocently as she could from across the shop.  
  
We browsed round for a bit. Harry picked up a book on the Chudley Cannons and flicked through the pages, stopping to watch some of the moving pictures in the centre. Ron too had gravitated towards the Quidditch section and was peering over Harry's shoulder.  
  
"Who're they?" I asked.  
  
"Who're they?!" echoed Ron incredulously. "'They' are only one of the best Quidditch teams ever to grace the face of the planet," he continued.  
  
"Quidditch?"  
  
Ron looked at me aghast, and then looked at Harry for some support. He got none as Harry was too busy sniggering at Ron's horror at my ignorance.  
  
"Harry, now don't take this the wrong way, mate, but you're really going to have to educate your... uh..."  
  
"Boyfriend?" he offered.  
  
Ron blushed slightly. I positively beamed at Harry. We hadn't really spoken about any kind of 'formalisation' of our relationship, such as it was at less than a week old, but it looked as if Harry was happy to let it progress a little.  
  
"Yeah, well," continued Ron, regaining his stride a little. "Whatever he is, if he's sharing our dorm you've got to teach him Quidditch."   
  
Harry looked around the shelf from which he'd got the Chudley Cannons book and pulled a green-covered volume from the shelf. "A present," he smiled. I looked at the cover: "Quidditch through the ages?"  
  
"Best way of explaining the game and why it's played like it is," smiled Harry. "Tell you what, why don't we all go and get a butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks and I'll explain it all."  
  
"'K. Any chance we can swing by a cash machine?"  
  
"A what?" asked Ron.  
  
"Cash machine - allows you to get money out of a hole in the wall," I explained none too clearly.  
  
"There's a branch of Gringotts round the corner from here - we'll see if they can sort out some wizard money for you," smiled Hermione. Harry volunteered to pay for the small assortment of books we had chosen. The shopkeeper smiled at us and paid comment on how well I'd managed to train my Crup. She looked at Monty thoughtfully for a moment, then bent down behind the counter and retrieved a rather tattered copy of "Magical Me" by Gilderoy Lockhart.  
  
"Seeing as the poor man's lost his marbles I's don't suppose he'd mind," she smiled, and placed the book squarely into Monty's mouth. We thanked her, turned up our collars and trudged back out into the snow again.   
  
[1] Extract from "Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them" by Newt Scamander and J.K. Rowling; Bloomsbury Children's Books; ISBN: 0747554668 


	9. For Better Or For Worse?

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER NINE:: For Better Or For Worse?  
  
A short walk and a truly shredded book later, we arrived at an obtusely grand building that looked rather like a miniature castle. Hermione led us into the rather dingy, damp-smelling cavern of a room and approached what looked like an overgrown lectern. On the top of it was an ornate name plaque that read "Tugloach - Chief Cashier". She pressed a button on the face of the lectern and almost instantly a hideous, hook-nosed, balding creature appeared. The creature's teeth compliment even rivalled Monty's and made me feel rather ill at ease.  
  
"Miss Granger," it said sharply and precisely, "how may we help you today?"  
  
The creature, whilst addressing Hermione, took the opportunity to size us all up. To be perfectly honest, I thought he looked as if he was deciding which one of us would go best with boiled potatoes, carrots and peas...  
  
"Mr Blackdon here would like to open an account and transfer some funds from his muggle bank."  
  
"A very wise decision, if I may say so. Mr Blackdon," Tugloach snapped. "Can I assume you have your muggle account details about your person?"  
  
It took me a moment to collect my thoughts as the creature's eyes had me transfixed as he stared at me.  
  
"Uh, yeah,"  
  
I fished my wallet out of my pocket and presented my debit card. Tugloach bent forward from the lectern, extending a bony, sinuous hand and took the card from me. The click his claw-like nails made as they came into contact with the plastic made me shiver involuntarily.  
  
"Thank you. Now, what quantity of funds do you wish to transfer?"  
  
I figured that as I hadn't spent anything in the last week I should be fairly wedged. "Three ought to do it."  
  
"Pounds?" asked the creature incredulously.  
  
"Thousand," I corrected. He raised its eyebrows almost imperceptibly before bowing precisely and klacking off into the recesses of the bank.  
  
The rather astonished looks on my new friends' faces suddenly - and for the first time - made me feel rather embarrassed at the amount of money I had at my disposal. Normally I gladly took any excuse to show off, and having a shit-load of cash in your back pocket was quite a good way of doing so. Here, however, it just made me feel awkward.  
  
"I'll explain later," I said rather sheepishly. "What is that thing anyway?"  
  
"A goblin," explained Hermione, quickly recovering from fiscal shock. "Not the most agreeable of creatures, but anally retentive in the extreme."  
  
"Textbook beancounter, then," I smiled.  
  
"Yeah," grinned Harry. "They're also rumored to be rather vicious - no one has ever broken into a Goblin-run bank and made it out alive, never mind stealing anything."  
  
A moment later, Tugloach reappeared. "The transfer is complete, Mr. Blackdon. Here is the key to your vault. Might I add that your considerable assets might be better protected at Gringotts?"  
  
"Considerable?"  
  
Tugloach handed me a sheaf of folded parchment. I took it and read the bottom of the ledger. An eight-figure sum was double-underlined.  
  
"I think there must've been some kind of mistake," I started, but Tugloach bristled menacingly.  
  
"I assure you, Mr. Blackdon, there is no mistake. Gringotts' Wizarding Bank does not make mistakes."  
  
"But according to this I've got..."  
  
Tugloach cleared his throat. "As I said, Mr. Blackdon: Perhaps your CONSIDERABLE assets might be better protected at Gringotts."  
  
My blood ran cold. I remembered as if it was no longer ago than yesterday the conversation my Father had had with me when I was thirteen:  
  
"Liam - now I don't care what I might have said or done in the past, but you are - like it or not - my son. As such, you are my sole beneficiary should the worst happen. Your bloody mother can forget about getting her claws on my cash and as far as she knows there ain't a whole lot of it. But what she don't know can't hurt her," he chuckled, winking at me.  
  
"Also, the bastard Inland Revenue doesn't know about the most of it and I intend to keep it that way. To keep the money where it is now, I need to contact the entity that's acting as a holding company at least once every three days. If that doesn't happen, the money gets wired straight to you. If you find that you're a lot better off than you normally are, it is IMPERATIVE that you move that cash into another account - the more obscure the better. D'you understand?"  
  
At that stage I could only nod and was more than mildly disinterested, but now those words rang clear in my and and made me feel sick to my stomach. There wasn't anything in the world dear old Dad loved more than his hidden fortune that he'd amassed via a range of varied and no doubt nefarious means, and he wouldn't let it go to me without a damn good reason.  
  
"Uh - Mr. Tugloach, please could you transfer the remainder of the balance to this bank?"  
  
Tugloach smiled. At least I decided to interpret it as a smile as any other potential interpretations were just plain scary.  
  
"Of course, Mr. Blackdon."  
  
"And may I withdraw some cash as well?"  
  
"Of course. What value and in what denomination?"  
  
"Uh - a couple of hundred quids' worth in whatever you think most useful," I rambled.  
  
Tugloach nodded once more and vanished into the bowels of the bank.  
  
"Liam? What's wrong?" asked Harry, concerned at my sudden blanching.  
  
"I need a drink."  
  
==========  
  
Dumbledore still sat in his chair, infuriated at himself for not being able to think himself out of the situation he found himself in. He had totally lost track of time due to the lack of windows in his prison and was becoming more and more aware of the oppression of the wards placed around him.  
  
Just as he started to run over the scenario in his head for the umpteenth time, he heard a key in a door, followed by a shaft of light streaking across the room as it was opened. Dumbledore squinted into the light and saw a silhouette of a hooded figure standing in the doorway.  
  
A gentle yet sickening cackle reached Dumbledore's ears, gradually building in volume. As Voldemort's obvious pleasure at having managed to incarcerate Dumbledore subsided a little, he entered the room.  
  
"My my," the reedy, sibilant voice croaked out. "Is this the great Albus Dumbledore I see before me?"  
  
Dumbledore bristled slightly, but did not dignify Voldemort with a response.  
  
"I see that Wormtail has been lacking in catering for such a prestigious guest as yourself," he continued, unabated. "I must apologise for him - he is unused to catering for visitors of such stature."  
  
Voldemort waved his wand around the room and the six or so gas lamps, dormant until now, spluttered into life. He then walked over to the opposing chair to Dumbledore, now bathed in a deep amber glow from the lamps, and began to sit down.  
  
"Where is Mr. Creevy?"  
  
"The boy? He is safe. For the moment at least."  
  
"Why am I here, Tom?" asked Dumbledore in is perpetually calm, collected voice, peering at the old student over his glasses that he had once considered most promising.  
  
Voldemort paused slightly as he sat before relaxing into the chair totally.  
  
"Tom Riddle died a long time ago, old man, as should have you." he spat.  
  
"Oh come now, Tom," said the Headmaster, a slight glint returning to his now unusually dull eyes. "He is as much a part of you now as he ever was. Now, why am I here?"  
  
Voldemort chuckled a hollow, sadistic laugh. "You underwhelm me, Dumbledore. Surely your perpetually irritating network of informants has managed to gather enough information to give you some clue."  
  
"I prefer not to speculate, Tom - to do so only aggravates fear, uncertainty and doubt - all traits I try to avoid and yet which you, it seems, have embraced whole-heartedly. The Dark is few in number and waning even now. You will fail, sooner or later..."  
  
"The Dark is more than a name," hissed Voldemort with extreme force from beneath his cloak. He paused for a moment to compose himself. "Surely, Dumbledore, a wizard of your great experience can feel it - the unrest, the irritability, the wrongness encroaching upon this country? It surrounds us like a black tide, gently lapping at the ankles of the innocent souls in this land. The Dark Is Rising, Dumbledore, and there is precious little you - or your students for that matter - can do to stop it. The Dark is older than both of us and it yearns for its rightful omnipotence. And as for it waning? I hardly think so. The Dark is Rising this winter, Dumbledore, as it has risen in ages past. It is not me the world should fear - oh no - it is what I represent..."  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "I have to admit that you are correct in that the Dark has Risen in the past, however you seem to forget that at each Rising the Light also rises to meet it. It has always been defeated and ever more shall be so."  
  
Voldemort cackled once more. "The Six are yet to meet and the Circle is yet to be initiated, Dumbledore. The Signs are scattered throughout the land and there is no Orchestrator in sight. The Light is in disarray and time is running out. You will not succeed this time."  
  
"You think I am the Orchestrator?" smiled Dumbledore. Voldemort seemed to stiffen slightly. "I am truly flattered, Tom, however I am not and never shall be the one. That burden still rests upon the shoulders of another much older and wiser than I."  
  
Voldemort considered this for a moment before standing.  
  
"If that is so, then I have no use for you. AVADA KEDAV..."  
  
The door burst open as Wormtail stumbled through it, holding Colin in a headlock. The half-cast curse of Voldemort's struck Dumbledore square in the chest, sending him and his chair flying backwards and crashing into the wall with horrific force.  
  
"NO!" yelled Colin, twisting himself out of Wormtail's grip. He ran over to the far side of the room where Dumbledore was slumped. To his amazement, the headmaster was still breathing: Unconscious, but alive.  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" roared Voldemort, causing Wormtail to cower in front of his master.  
  
Wormtail tried to construct an explanation, but the best he could muster was a pathetic whimper.  
  
"You tread a very fine line, Wormtail," Lord Voldemort hissed, closing his bony fingers round Wormtail's neck and squeezing until he could hardly breathe. "First you excel yourself by bringing me Albus Dumbledore, and then you manage to do something like this..."  
  
"I... I'm sorry my lord," croaked Wormtail between inhibited gasps.  
  
"You will receive a reprieve this time. You will not live to receive a second."  
  
Voldemort dragged Wormtail out of the room, leaving Colin sobbing over the motionless form of Albus Dumbledore.  
  
==========  
  
It was a particularly grey day in Surrey and, despite the lack of snow in previous years, Will Stanton found himself looking out of his bedroom window at a white carpet stretching as far as he could see in any direction. In fact, it was still snowing - generous white flakes falling lazily to the ground, occasionally being whisked and flurried by the odd gust of wind.  
  
The sky, whilst being an ominous grey, was offset somewhat by the blanket of intense white, giving a rather false impression of brightness when in fact it was rather dingy and murky.  
  
School was nearly over, making way for the Christmas holidays - and not a moment too soon in Will's opinion. Gazing down at the quite immense amount of snow that had fallen overnight, he surmised - correctly - that the holidays would be starting sooner rather than later.  
  
Either way, today was a Saturday so school didn't even come close to being on the agenda. He dragged on a jumper and jeans and trotted down the twisty, narrow stairs into the large, low-ceilinged kitchen. As he pushed the heavy oak door open, the smell of frying bacon and eggs hit him. The noise of the frying combined with the chattering of the rest of the family and the small, tinny transistor radio that was squeaking out Christmas carols to the best of its limited ability made for a raucous but happy scene.  
  
"My God - it's awake!" grinned his eldest brother, Jim, from across the table. Will was mid-yawn and rubbing an eye with the back of his hand. He exhaled quickly in amusement and smiled at his sibling. It wasn't often Will got to see Jim as he was in the Navy and hence usually posted at some obscure location around the globe, but this year he'd managed to get leave to stay home over Christmas.  
  
"Would someone turn that radio down? I can barely hear myself think!" exclaimed Will's mum as she prodded bacon and sausages around the frying pan with a spatula.  
  
Will practically had to mountaineer his way over dogs, cats, siblings, furniture and family to get to a seat at the kitchen table. As he was passing the little radio, it let out a huge burst of static that both made will jump and the rest of the assembled family complain loudly. What's more, the cats made themselves scarce rather quickly and their two dogs, usually pleased to see him, raised their hackles and backed away.  
  
"Will someone PLEASE TURN THAT BLOODY THING DOWN!" yelled Mrs. Stanton in exasperation as the sausages spat hot cooking oil at her hands.  
  
"Where's dad?" Will asked Jim as he helped himself to a round of toast from the rack in the middle of the table.  
  
"He's out frowning at the drive - I think we're all being roped in to help clear it in a bit."  
  
"That's hardly fair, now, is it? I mean the first Christmas you're back here in..."  
  
"Six years,"  
  
"Six years and he's getting you to shovel snow?" Complained Will as he poured himself a glass of orange juice from the jug on the table.  
  
Jim chuckled at his youngest brother and tousled his unruly mop of dirty-blond hair. "I don't mind - it's just nice to be home for a bit."  
  
"So - what have you been up to? How's school going?"  
  
"OK I s'pose," sighed Will. He wasn't an academic per-se, but did well enough to tantalise his teachers with his potential and then repeatedly confound them through 'repetitive under-performance', according to his end-of-term reports.  
  
Jim leaned towards him and lowered his voice slightly. "Got a girlfriend yet?"  
  
Will snorted the mouthful of orange juice back into his glass. "N... No, not yet," he coughed, causing Jim to laugh.  
  
"Yeah, right," he kidded.  
  
"No, really!" exclaimed Will looking rather exasperated.  
  
Jim just nodded with a wry smile on his face.  
  
"Honest!"  
  
Thankfully, Mr. Stanton broke the moment by storming through the back door looking like a yeti. He was wearing a heavy sheepskin coat that had quite obviously seen better days (even the patches had patches) and was covered head to toe in snow.  
  
Much to Mrs. Stanton's disapproval he stamped around vigorously on the door mat, shaking the majority of snow from himself onto the floor.  
  
"Morning all," he grinned as he unwrapped himself from the multitude of scarves, hats, gloves and such with which his wife had lovingly mummified him. "It's quite something out there this morning. Feels too cold for snow, and yet it's still falling."  
  
"I've never understood that," frowned Luke, one of a pair of twins and second eldest in the clan. "I mean, it's frozen water..."  
  
"Did you hear the weather report at all today, Dad?" asked Paul, the second youngest brother, between bites of his toast and marmalade.  
  
"Yeah - the Met. Office don't know where it came from, but as far as they can tell it's here to stay for a while yet."  
  
"So you think we'll get a white Christmas?"  
  
"At this rate I don't see how we can't..."  
  
"Cool!"  
  
"I can't remember ever having a white Christmas," mulled Will.  
  
"You did, but you were only a baby," smiled his Mum as she placed a plate fully loaded with a full English breakfast in front of himself and Jim.  
  
"Yeah, I remember that - I think I was thirteen and a seem to remember giving Chris a right pasting!"  
  
Chris poked his head out from behind the IT journal in which he was engrossed. "Huh?"  
  
"S'alright - go back to sleep, Chris,"  
  
"'K"  
  
"And Merry phoned yesterday - he's going to be staying with us for a while."  
  
"Great Uncle Merry?" spluttered Will, breakfast now seeming rather inconsequential.  
  
"Mmm hmm," nodded Mr. Stanton, now fully de-scarved and able to move his limbs more than ten degrees in any direction.  
  
Merriman Lyon wasn't actually related to the Stantons, but somehow he'd always seemed to "just be there". Even Mr. Stanton couldn't clearly recall when he'd first met Merry or even how they'd met, only that he was a good friend and always gave accurate, insightful, sage-like advice.  
  
When he was around, that is: He often vanished and would subsequently be out of contact for extended periods of time. Then, just as if nothing had happened, he'd invariably appear on their doorstep, beaming down his hawk-like nose at them benevolently and brandishing some exotic presents or other trinkets he'd picked up on his travels for various members of the family.  
  
Although superficially it would appear that he lavished attention upon each of the Stanton children equally, he always seemed that little bit more interested in the things Will had to tell him, and any gifts he gave to Will always had a slightly more involved story behind them than did the others.  
  
Either way, Merriman was a firm favourite with the Stanton family as a whole. Although he was without a doubt the most eccentric person any of them had the pleasure of knowing, they easily overlooked this fact due to the immense amusement and intrigue he provided whenever he graced them with his presence.  
  
"He reckons he'll be here for a couple of weeks at least," continued Mr. Stanton, squeezing himself into a place at the already crowded table.  
  
Mrs. Stanton frowned at her husband in a 'why didn't you tell me this earlier?' kind of way before continuing to distribute breakfast to her offspring.  
  
"Where's he been this time?" asked Will.  
  
"He wasn't particularly specific, although he did mention the term 'safari', so I'd imagine somewhere warm."  
  
"What does he actually do?" asked Paul. "I mean, does anyone really know?"  
  
"I think he's supposed to be a professor of some kind - he does all this travelling for research purposes, I think."  
  
"And what on earth could he possibly be researching?"  
  
"Knowing Merry it'd be something like migration habits of the lesser-striped wombat. You know what he's like."  
  
And with that - as it always did wherever Merriman was concerned - the conversation seemed to steer away from what he was actually up to and concentrate just on the fact that it would just be good to see him again.  
  
Thanks to the ten years that separated the six Stanton boys, the topics of conversation were always disparate and hence never short on material. Arguments, though frequent, were nearly all amiable in nature.  
  
The discussion at breakfast that day regarded sleeping arrangements: Although their house wasn't exactly small, it was not as large as it might have been and with Jim, Chris, John and Luke, Paul and Will all home simultaneously, it left precious little room for visitors.  
  
Jim, having handed his room over to Will (much to Paul's disgust) when he left for the Navy, found himself sleeping on a camp bed in his old room along with his little brother. It was decided that Paul would have to move in with Chris for the duration of Merry's stay so that Merriman could use Paul's room.  
  
Paul, after expressing rather vocally that he always seemed to be the one that had to move around when anyone stayed, was soon reprimanded by his Mother. Grudgingly, he admitted that it was the most logical move and, after all, didn't Merry deserve somewhere better to sleep than on the couch?  
  
Somehow all arguments were settled and feeding themselves took priority over sleeping arrangements.  
  
After breakfast, Mr. Stanton cajoled his collective offspring to don hats, gloves, scarves and wellington boots and head out into the snow to try and keep the driveway clear. The Council had seen fit to send a snow plough down Old Bakery Road late last night, but the incessant snow had rendered that single, isolated pass it had made totally pointless. Paul had tried to point out that there was little - if any - point in keeping the driveway clear if there was nowhere to drive to, but such was the comradery between the Stanton brothers at that point that he was simply pelted with snowballs and ignored.  
  
A half hour later they'd made an almost totally clear pathway from around the side of the house down to the road itself, only to hear a rather lonely sounding shovel from the driveway diagonally opposite the Stantons'. Their own conversation died down as their ears strained to hear where it was coming from, the eerie deadening of sound created by the heavy snowfall providing a caricature of every noise they heard.  
  
The area they lived in was rather sparsely populated, the nearest house being about thirty meters further up the road with the massive Greythorn Manor being another half-mile or so further up.  
  
"Is that Mrs. Pettigrew?" asked Jim, leaning on his shovel.  
  
"It must be," replied Mr. Stanton. "What the devil she's doing out in this weather I'll never know - she'll catch her death of cold. Jim, Will - will you two go and see if she's OK?"  
  
"No probs," smiled Jim.  
  
"And stay together."  
  
"We're only nipping up the road, Dad!" exclaimed Will.  
  
"I know, but the weather's doing some very odd things - it almost seems to be snowing even heavier now than before."  
  
"We'll be careful, Dad," smiled Jim. "C'mon, scruff," he winked at Will, and they trudged off up the road towards old Mrs. Pettigrew's. 


	10. The Dark Is Rising

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER TEN:: The Dark Is Rising.  
  
We walked in silence from Gringotts to the Three Broomsticks. Harry walked shoulder to shoulder with me, looking very concerned himself while Monty also just trotted along placidly by my heel.  
  
We entered the Three Broomsticks and, although it appeared rather dark and dingy inside, we were greeted with a warm smile by the barmaid, who I later learned was called Madam Rosmerta.  
  
Remembering the rather shocked look on everyone's faces as to the amount of money that had been dealt with at Gringotts, I felt it only fair that I buy the round. I fished out a couple of galleons from my pocket and handed them to Madam Rosmerta.  
  
"Whatever anyone wants," I offered. "Got anything serious?" I asked her.  
  
"Well, fire-whisky, but I don't think that I should serve..."  
  
"Double, please," I glared at her.  
  
She decided not to argue and poured me the shots of whiskey.  
  
Harry quietly ordered three butterbeers and led us over to a secluded table in the corner by the window, Harry and myself taking the bench seat beneath the windowsill, Ron and Hermione opposite us. Monty leaped in between Harry and myself, dolefully resting his head on my thigh.  
  
After taking a sip of his butterbeer, Ron broke the silence. "So, uh, Liam... How did you... umm... become so... uh..."  
  
I took a sip of my fire-whisky. That stuff certainly lived up to its name, but I wasn't in the mood for theatrics.  
  
"Long story short, my Dad throws me money to keep out of his way and not get into trouble. He did tell me once, though, that if I ever found shit-loads of money in my account I should shift it immediately as he was probably... uh..." I took another sip of whiskey. "Dead."  
  
Ron snorted the head off his butterbeer. Hermione blanched quite visibly while Harry just seemed to get a rather gritted, determined look about him.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I've got to go and find out what happened to him."  
  
"We'll come with you," volunteered Harry immediately. Ron nodded in earnest while Hermione frowned.  
  
"Do you think McGonagall will let us go with him?" she asked.  
  
"Of course she won't," chided Ron. "That's why we're not going to tell her."  
  
"We can't just leave! I mean, what if something happened?"  
  
"Hermione, something _HAS_ happened," countered Harry. "Whatever happens, I'm going with you," he said, looking straight at me. I smiled weakly back, and felt rather annoyed that I couldn't communicate how grateful I was to have him supporting me at that time. The brief smile that flashed across his face just went to prove that he already knew me too well and knew what I was thinking.  
  
"Well, I'm up for it," said Ron. "Herm?"  
  
"I..." she looked round at the others and sighed. "I'm not really allowed to say 'no', am I?"  
  
The other two lads shook their heads.  
  
"When are we leaving then?"  
  
"No time like the present, eh?" said Ron.  
  
We all drank up, myself feeling a little numb after the fire-whisky, and made our way back to the castle. Just as we were about to climb through the portrait hole back into Gryffindor tower, Professor McGonagall called after us.  
  
"Ahh, Mr. Blackdon, I wonder if I might borrow you for a moment?"  
  
I looked round at the others, who returned an unknowing glance. Ron and Hermione went inside, and I instructed Monty to do so as well. He did, but only after looking rather annoyed that he wasn't allowed to stay with me.  
  
Harry, on the other hand, turned and followed me back down the corridor to where Professor McGonagall was stood.  
  
"I'm afraid boys that Bob has been called away rather urgently so you'll be resuming an ordinary timetable from now on. However, he did say that you, Liam, might be able to shed a little light on this,"  
  
McGonagall produced a sheet of folded parchment and handed it to me to read.  
  
As I took it, something felt... I dunno, 'un-right' about the letter, but I was damned if I could figure out what. I began to read.  
  
"Dear Minerva, "I am afraid that I have been unavoidably delayed in London on other business. This matter is rather important, so I should like you very much to pass on my sincerest apologies to Mr. Fudge and the other Ministry members for my absence. Unfortunately, I am unable to elaborate more at this time and the snowfall here in London is quite severe. However I shall, no doubt, fill you in on my return to Hogwarts. "Fondest regards, " Albus Dumbledore."  
  
"What do you want me to do with this?"  
  
"Bob assures me that you have a talent for perceiving Aka Threads."  
  
"Aka who?"  
  
"The Law of Contagion," she frowned, becoming slightly annoyed with my ignorance.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor, I don't quite follow..."  
  
"Perhaps you don't know the proper nomenclature - you can see the history of an object, who touched it and such."  
  
Immediately the not-quite-right aspect of the letter presented itself to me.   
  
"Yeah, I reckon so."  
  
"What can you tell me about this letter?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
McGonagall was obviously a little annoyed at my curiosity, answering with a slightly sharp edge to her voice.  
  
"I can't say too much, but I have reason to believe that this wasn't sent by Professor Dumbledore. Everything the letter says is true: The charms we have tried show no falsity, but somehow it doesn't feel like Dumbledore writing."  
  
Now that she'd nudged me in the right direction, I felt immediately that I could confirm her suspicions. Superficially the letter appeared fine, however the aura it was emitting seemed rather strange - almost obscure. The more I tried to see its history, the more I was led on a wild goose chase of random images, all of which described something, but none of which made sense.  
  
"Professor, would Professor Dumbledore have a reason to try and disguise where this letter came from?"  
  
"I don't believe so, no,"  
  
"Then something very odd has certainly happened. I can tell the letter was delivered from an address in London, but before that everything seems very jumbled and out of order. If I try and look at an event or something, I can see something totally unrelated to what I want to see. It's as if someone doesn't want me seeing where this letter really came from."  
  
"Thank you, Liam," said McGonagall, pulling the letter from my hands. Her pursed lips showed that my insight had resigned her to a rather unpleasant idea. "I may have to call upon you again soon,"  
  
I nodded and smiled back cordially. Without warning, Harry, who'd been stood beside me while I examined the letter, let out a stomach-churning groan and fell heavily against me, catching me quite off-balance. We both crashed onto the hard, stone floor, myself just managing to cushion Harry's head from a direct impact. He was out cold.  
  
McGonagall stooped down by us, concern written across her deeply furrowed brow.  
  
"Are you boys all right?"  
  
"I'm fine, Professor, but Harry... I think he's feinted."  
  
I was shaking, more through shock than anything else. Harry's breathing was shallow but regular, his eyes darting around under his eyelids.  
  
"Liam, help me get him to the Hospital Wing - this isn't the first time this has happened."  
  
It was a full hour before Harry began to stir. Never in my life had I sat beside someone's bed feeling so concerned for their safety and wellbeing. As he lay there, dead to the world, he looked extremely calm - the omnipresent appearance of mild concern for once absent from his handsome face. I found it quite disturbing that only in involuntary unconsciousness could he really find peace.  
  
Madam Pomfrey annoyed me somewhat by looking altogether unconcerned by Harry's condition, and my vindictive side was quite pleased when Ron and Hermione burst into the hospital wing rather noisily, causing her to snap at us all.  
  
After relating what had happened to them, we all ended up just sat, staring at him. I took his right hand in mine and squeezed it gently. After a couple of moments, to my joy and relief, he suddenly squeezed back. I looked up at his face to find a pair of green eyes and a weak smile beaming back at me.  
  
"Are you OK?"  
  
He nodded back. "It was my scar - it began to hurt so badly I couldn't stand it."  
  
"What does that mean? I mean what normally causes it to do that?"  
  
"Voldemort," sighed Harry. He shuffled up the bed slightly so he was more sitting than lying. I jumped up and grabbed another pillow from the adjacent bed to put behind his head and he smiled gratefully at me. "Whenever he's close, my scar really burns, but somehow this was different. It was a whole lot more intense. I mean, normally it starts to itch, then tingle and gets worse from there, but this was instant - like someone had just flicked a switch..."  
  
"Any idea why it was so different this time?" asked Ron.  
  
"No... It was just so intense, and I felt... I dunno - there was something very wrong."  
  
I looked at Harry's scar, the intense green glow it emitted now stronger than I had ever seen it. I began to move my hand towards it, but Harry stopped me.  
  
"Are you sure you want to do that again?"  
  
"I think so: I'm kinda getting used to it," I smiled.  
  
Harry nodded and let go of my hand, allowing me to move it to his forehead. As my fingers approached his scar, I could feel the energy flowing around it. It felt rather like a pair of magnets as you bring them together: The closer they are, the stronger the pull until they snap together. Deciding that if I didn't do it now I'd loose my nerve, I allowed my fingertips to come into direct contact with his skin.  
  
The jolt of emotion as I touched him still shocked me, but I managed to retain enough composure to control my own feelings. I flicked through the library of memories that seemed to be caught up in this very simple-looking scar, suddenly realising that the death of Harry's parents was just the start of it's journal.  
  
Figuring that the cause of Harry's overwhelming reaction would be at the end of the record, I looked forward through time until I reached an hour before now. I could make out a dimly lit room, in which was placed a chair. I strained my mind's eye to resolve more detail and, gently, the finer points of the image became apparent to me.  
  
There was a figure in the chair, its face covered by a large, wispy white beard that seemed to diffuse the deep orange glow of the gas lamps that illuminated the scene. My mouth dried as I came across an intensely worrying realisation. The man in the chair was...  
  
"Dumbledore," I whispered.  
  
Hermione, Ron and Harry audibly gasped.  
  
"He's sat in a chair next to a fireplace... He's talking to someone..."  
  
"Who?" asked Hermione.  
  
"It looks as if he's talking to me, but he can't be..."  
  
A much brighter shaft of light suddenly illuminated the scene. A split second later, there was a sickening flash of green light accompanied by a very real sensation of pain, causing me to cry out. I saw the chair, complete with its occupant, go flying away from the light. Just before my fingers lost contact with Harry's scar, I caught a glimpse of another smaller figure dash in from the direction of the light.  
  
"Colin," I breathed, before nearly passing out myself.  
  
==========  
  
Draco Malfoy found it most irregular that his Father should call him away from school. What's more, he wasn't even returning to Malfoy Manor, rather than to the home of some obscure relative and, just to put the icing on the cake, his Father couldn't be arsed to speak to him personally, rather he just instruct his Housemaster to relay the message.  
  
He frowned as the carriage in which he was sat rumbled rather quietly over the snow-covered roads of Surrey. He leaned forward in his seat and wiped off some of the condensation from the window with the sleeve of his robes. He couldn't believe the snow had reached this far south and thought that, if anything, the snow was deeper here than in the Scottish Highlands. Indeed, the drifts now ensured that one could only spot the hedgerows as gentle undulations in the vast snowscape rather than the abrupt divisions they should have been.  
  
He sank back into his seat and pulled his cloak tighter round him. It really was bitterly cold, and he hoped that they were not too much further from his destination.  
  
==========  
  
The short trek from the Stanton's driveway to Mrs. Pettigrew's ordinarily took under a minute, but today was anything but ordinary. Aside from the obvious impediment of the snow to the act of walking, it also proved to be an inexhaustible supply of ammunition for the two Stanton brothers. By the time they reached Mrs. Pettigrew's drive, Jim and Will were both covered from head to toe in snowball shrapnel.  
  
They found Mrs. Pettigrew shovelling incessantly at the snowdrift that had all but blocked the entrance to her driveway. The tiny old lady seemed dwarfed by everything, from the extremely home-made woollen hat she was wearing to the shovel she was trying to use.  
  
"Hello Mrs. Pettigrew!" shouted Jim.  
  
"Who's that?" she asked, turning away from them and peering back at her house.  
  
"Err, over here, Mrs. Pettigrew," shouted Will again. She spun round once more to face them.  
  
"My word!" she exclaimed. "Messrs Stanton and Stanton," she warbled. "I haven't seen you in ages! My how you've both grown!"  
  
"How are you, Mrs. Pettigrew?" asked Jim, clambering through the snow drift, Will quite literally following in his tracks.  
  
"I'm fine, dear, fine," she crooned in her trademark sing-song voice. "but this weather ain't half playing up my old bones. I'm having my grand-nephew-in-law-twice-removed-on-my-great-great-grandfather's side - or something like that anyway - this Christmas so I thought I'd at least better try and make the place look at least a little bit respectable," she said, attacking the snow drift once again with renewed vigour.  
  
"Could you use a couple of extra pairs of hands?" Will offered, looking rather concerned at the way she was exerting herself. He was actually quite amazed she could even lift the shovel she was using, let alone move snow with it.  
  
"Well that would be absolutely marvellous," she beamed. "Are you sure you don't mind? I'm quite alright to carry on here by myself..."  
  
Jim took the shovel from her and smiled. "We wouldn't hear of it, Mrs. Pettigrew."  
  
"Oh, that's so good of you two," she beamed. "Will, if you want there's another shovel in the shed in the back garden. I'll go and put the kettle on!"  
  
Jim smiled, amused at the way Mrs. Pettigrew seemed to almost hop along rather than walk. "If I'm half as light on my feet as she is when I'm her age I'll be a happy man," he chuckled to Will.  
  
"How old do you reckon she is?"  
  
"I dunno, actually," replied Jim, taking huge shovelfuls of snow and hurling them a good ten feet away. "I mean, she was old when I was your age, so she must be positively ancient now! Anyway, go and get that other shovel - it'll take both of us to get this cleared in a reasonable time."  
  
Fuelled by copious cups of herbal tea provided at regular intervals by Mrs. Pettigrew, Jim and Will made reasonably short work of the snowdrift that was blocking her driveway. Just as they were clearing the last few shovel-fulls, a sight struck them that caused all work to cease immediately. A large, black carriage drawn by a pair of equally dark mares rounded the corner at the bottom of Old Bakery Road.  
  
The stunning contrast of the jet-black transport against the whiter-than-white snow caused both boys to simply stop and stare. The horses seemed extremely sure-footed, even in the rather deep snow that had built up since the snow plough had gone over the road the previous night, whilst the carriage's thin wheels cut through the same with graceful ease.  
  
"Oh, here he is," smiled Mrs. Pettigrew, producing a large white handkerchief and waving it at the carriage. It slowed and came to a stop directly outside the driveway, the horses snorting and champing at the bit as if they were annoyed to have their stride interrupted.  
  
The carriage door opened with a clunk and a rather thin, blond-haired boy stepped out into the snow and strode straight past Will and Jim without so much as a glance.  
  
"Mrs. Pettigrew?" asked the boy, pulling off his leather gloves finger by finger.  
  
"Oh Draco!" she gushed, and hugged him tightly round the waist. The boy tensed immediately, obviously not quite sure how to respond to such an outburst of emotion and simply waited for the embarrassment to end.  
  
Eventually it did, allowing Draco Malfoy to turn and address the Stantons for the first time.  
  
"Valet? Take my cases inside. And be careful - there are valuables in there that would not take kindly to rough handling."  
  
Jim leaned towards Will and whispered in a stage whisper: "Pleasant little chap, ain't he?"  
  
This of course caused Will to splutter back a laugh. The stern look on Malfoy's face quickly and (it appeared) effortlessly changed to one of extreme displeasure and disdain.  
  
"Now look here," he started, striding towards Will and Jim. Jim drew a deep breath and straightened up slightly, underlining the fact that he was all of six-foot-two tall and built like the proverbial brick toilet, thanks to six years of Royal Navy training and service. Malfoy faltered.  
  
"Draco," snapped Mrs. Pettigrew. "I wish you'd show a little more respect to my neighbours!"  
  
Malfoy turned. "Your neighbours? I... I thought that as they were shovelling snow that..."  
  
"You know full well I don't have the money to employ servants, unlike your own family. These two boys volunteered to help me clear my driveway out of the goodness of their own hearts - you could learn a thing or two from them. Now - I believe an apology is in order."  
  
Draco's face had reddened, half in anger at being belittled in front of an audience of strangers, half in embarrassment. He wasn't particularly used to saying 'sorry', so it took him a while to actually formulate the sentence.  
  
Eventually, an apology was spluttered out, much to the enjoyment of Jim. Will, however, was fascinated by the tall, thin, blond boy. Yes, he was presumptuous and extremely full of himself, but that just made him all the more curious.  
  
"C'mon, then, Will - Dad'll wonder where we've got to. Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Pettigrew."  
  
"Any time, boys. And don't be such strangers - I've got the same amount of snow again round the back of the house!" she quipped.  
  
Jim turned and held a hand in the air in a parting wave, Will following behind him.  
  
"So what about my trunk?" asked Draco incredulously.  
  
"Well don't look at me," said Mrs. Pettigrew. "Strapping young lad like yourself shouldn't have any trouble moving his own luggage."  
  
And with that, she toddled off back into the house leaving Draco stood on the drive next to the carriage.  
  
He exhaled heavily and opened the luggage locker at the back of the carriage. Will, who'd been lagging behind Jim, turned to see Malfoy trying to man-handle one of his huge trunks and stopped completely. Jim turned to see why Will was dawdling.  
  
"I'm sure you can make it home on your own, can't you William?" he asked in mock pomposity.  
  
"I think I'll manage," grinned Will, and headed back towards Mrs. Pettigrew's.  
  
Draco was having no luck whatsoever with his trunk.  
  
"Need a hand?" offered Will, leaning up against the carriage's rear wheel.  
  
Draco's head snapped up to meet Will's gaze with a penetrating stare, but he found it difficult to maintain when he noticed the boy's grey eyes. He swallowed the sharp dismissal he'd prepared and managed to muster a slight smile. "Thank you."  
  
"Not a problem," smiled Will, sensing a slight shift in Draco's mood, and together they dragged the immensely heavy trunk out of the carriage.  
  
As soon as the last article of baggage had been removed, the horses gave a whinny and trotted off down Old Bakery Road and disappeared round the corner. Only when they were out of sight did Will realise that they had had no driver.  
  
While he found this more than a little curious, the logical side of his brain dictated that there must have been a driver and he simply didn't see him. Satisfied that this was the most reasonable answer, Will shrugged mentally and helped Draco shift the trunk into Mrs. Pettigrew's hallway.  
  
Once inside, Will offered his hand to the boy. "I'm Will Stanton," he announced. "I live just next door if you hadn't gathered."  
  
"Draco Malfoy," returned the blond, ensuring he shook Will's hand before he wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. "So, are you a... Um..."  
  
"Yes he is, and no he doesn't" snapped Mrs. Pettigrew as she lurched out of the kitchen. "Remember what your Father told you about awkward questions, Draco. While I'm sure Will wouldn't say anything, not everyone is as trustworthy as he."  
  
"Yes, Mrs. Pettigrew," replied Draco resignedly.  
  
"And for heaven's sake call me Auntie or something - 'Mrs. Pettigrew' makes me feel so old," she clucked before heading off towards the drawing room.  
  
Deciding that it was probably best if he left certain questions for another time, he changed the subject. "Do you need a hand to your room?"  
  
"Uh, actually, that'd be brilliant - thanks, Will. I, uh... I really am sorry for earlier."  
  
"Hey, no problem!" Smiled Will. "Not every day I get to meet nobility."  
  
"Nobility? Me?" snorted Draco. "I wish. Actually, my Father wishes, but we're not nobility - not by a long shot."  
  
"Oh... I thought that... um..."  
  
"I'll have a quick word with 'Auntie', then I'll fill you in," he smiled back. That in itself actually quite shocked Draco, his smile feeling unfamiliar - but not unpleasant - on his normally stern and unforgiving face.  
  
Will on the other hand rapidly found himself becoming more than a little enamoured with Draco, and it was a conscious effort to tear his eyes away from him.  
  
"C'mon then," he sighed, trying to get things moving again before Draco noticed his hesitation. "Let's tackle these stairs."  
  
Draco, however, had always been a shrewd and accurate observer of people, and Will's slightly lingering gaze made him smile that little bit more. 


	11. Philosophy

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER ELEVEN:: Philosophy.  
  
Harry had very quickly regained his full composure after the incident in the hospital wing, the look of grim determination now set upon his face once more. Although I missed the relaxed benign appearance of while he was unconscious, I couldn't say his present demeanour was unjustified.   
  
I, however, was finding it more difficult. I had been in Dumbledore's presence for barely more than a couple of hours, yet I felt a great allegiance to the man, and a debt of gratitude for allowing me to study at Hogwarts despite the irregularities of it all.  
  
And then there was my father. If he wasn't dead he was certainly being held against his will as he'd never have made a conscious decision to hand all of his worldly wealth over to me.  
  
Finally, there was Draco Malfoy. From what the others had said, the insufferable little bastard was usually left to his own devices and being pulled out of school early was most irregular.  
  
As the four of us walked through the cloisters back to Gryffindor tower, Harry filled Ron and Hermione in on the letter McGonagall had asked me to look at. The wind whipped the snow into a fury in the quad around which we were walking, causing me to shiver and pull my cloak tighter around my neck.  
  
I stopped and turned to look at the snow. Gazing into it, I expected to feel relaxed and calmed by the pseudo-randomness of the mini-blizzard. Instead, the more I looked at it, the more uncomfortable I felt. I jumped as Harry placed a hand on my shoulder.  
  
"You OK?" he asked.  
  
"There's something very wrong here," I replied, still gazing out into they myriad of snowflakes.  
  
"How d'you mean?"  
  
"There's something behind all of this. It all feels too organised - Dumbledore's capture, my Father's disappearance... I just got this feeling Malfoy is tied up in this somehow, as is the snow..."  
  
"The snow?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Look at it. Have you ever known snow this heavy and consistent? I mean I know we're in Scotland, but even so..."  
  
They all shook their heads. "It's like a Boa Constrictor gradually suffocating its prey. Before anyone knows what's happened, it'll be too late to do anything about it. It's smothering the country and before anyone knows it, they'll be stuck in their houses. It'll keep getting colder and colder and by the time someone realises 'this is a bit odd, isn't it?' they'll be powerless to do anything about it."  
  
"But who's doing this? I doubt even Voldemort could conjure up something as large as a country-wide blizzard..."  
  
"But we don't know for sure that it's covering all of England," countered Ron.  
  
"We do: It was in Dumbledore's - or whoever's it was - letter. McGonagall said she couldn't find anything untruthful about it, so I suppose we can take that as a fact." replied Harry.  
  
"Hermione - I think we're going to have to call on your expertise with Madam Pince's indexing system again," I smiled.  
  
We changed course and made our way to the Library. The omnipresent Madam Pince looked mildly surprised at our entrance, yet pleased that some students had decided to avail themselves of her domain on a Saturday. She smiled cordially as Hermione asked if she may use the index.  
  
I, meanwhile, noted with some amusement that the book she had previously been waging war against when we'd last visited the Library had been vanquished. It was now firmly Spellotaped shut and had a large, heavy glass inkwell placed on top of it, although it was still shaking and emitting sporadic, muffled growls.   
  
"So, what are we looking for?"  
  
It's rather difficult to find something when you're not exactly sure what it is you're after. Rather predictably, all the books on meteorology told us everything we ever wanted to know about the scientific formation of frozen precipitation, but no insight as to what unnatural forces may invoke it.  
  
"Do we have anything like a weather almanac?"  
  
Ron, who was balanced precariously on the top of one of the ladders to reach the upper shelves, unearthed a rather large, well-thumbed volume entitled "Severe Storms and Countless Clouds: A collection of the coldest, wettest and most inhospitable weather from the British Isles".  
  
Ron managed to pull it from the shelf and drop it into Harry's waiting arms. We cleared a space for the comically sized book and opened it to the index page. I couldn't help but smile at some of the hyperbolic titles for the sections, but one of them quite suddenly caught my eye.  
  
"The Dark Blizzard of 1903 - the Winter Britain Froze," I read aloud. I flicked through the rather brittle pages of the book until I came upon the relevant chapter.  
  
"'In the last month of AD 1903, it is recorded that Great Britain did endure one of the hardest winters that any living man had ever seen. It is said that the Snowfall wasn't overly heavy, more that it endured for many days and nights. Both highways and byways became blocked and the country as a whole was brought to a standstill. Meteorologists of the time could find no explanation for the arctic conditions, however contemporary stareomancers surmised that it was due to ancient Rites of Dark Magick (sic). Legends concerning the periodic Rise of the Dark abound in their various forms, however none have ever been proven, either demonstrably or empirically.'"  
  
"What's stareomancy when it's at home?" asked Ron as he climbed down the ladder.  
  
"It's a form of Divination, just like Arithmancy or Lecanomancy," explained Hermione. "It's where witches and wizards try and make predictions based on the weather."  
  
"So where would we find stuff on the Rise of the Dark then?" asked Harry.  
  
Hermione paused for a moment before striding round into the adjacent aisle and reappearing a moment later with a copy of "Wizarding Lore - stories based on fact, fiction and the downright ludicrous."  
  
She opened the book on top of 'Severe Storms and Countless Clouds' and flicked through the various chapters.  
  
"There," she said, pointing at one of the headings. "The Rising of the Dark! 'Every five score years the Powers that comprise the Dark grow weary of their previous submission to the Light. This restlessness provokes the Rising, an event where all creatures and beings of the Dark wage war against those of the Light. It is believed that precursors to the uprising can include bizarre weather patterns (the last uprising, thought to be circa 1903, coincided with one of the worst winters recorded), the disappearance of key figures within contemporary society and general feelings of disquiet amongst those predisposed to perceiving the general atmosphere of the world around them.'"  
  
"Well that kinda hits the nail on the head, doesn't it?" said Ron, looking more than a little concerned. Hermione continued.  
  
"'The Dark is fabled to be fought and turned back by the Circle - six individuals, each of which bear a Sign of the Light. The coincidence of the Circle is arranged by the Orchestrator - a man charged with gathering the members of the Circle by conscious request or otherwise. This position was held by Merlin many centuries ago and is bequeathed to another on the vanquishing of the dark.'"  
  
"And what happens if the Dark isn't turned back?" asked Harry, staring intently at nothing in particular as he did when he was concentrating hard.  
  
Hermione scanned down the page. "'If the Light is unsuccessful in its charge to repel the Dark, the Light will be overthrown as the dominant influence over the world. The Dark will replace it until the next Rising - one hundred years hence.'"  
  
"Doesn't leave a second chance really, does it?" I asked, forcing a weak smile.  
  
"It does say that this stuff is based in fiction as well as fact," reminded Hermione. "I mean, how much of that is actually true?"  
  
"I have this really horrible feeling we're going to find out one way or another," I replied.  
  
"So what's the plan, then?" asked Ron.  
  
"Well, I need to find out what happened to my Dad one way or another, so I suggest we start there."  
  
We tidied the books we had managed to pile up around us back on to their original shelves, thanked Madam Pince and resumed our original course to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
As we climbed the stairs to the second floor, I paused as I heard Snape's unmistakably slimy voice echo up from the ground floor.  
  
"...is to leave this afternoon and Draco Malfoy has already left in accordance with his Father's instructions to travel to one of his more obscure relations in Surrey."  
  
McGonagall's voice replied. "I don't like this at all, Severus. There's a worrying correlation there between those that have been ordered to leave early and the families that are known to have had dealings with the Dark. How many are left in Slytherin now?"  
  
"Only fourteen, the majority of which are muggle-borns. I would imagine it's safe to assume that you have a full compliment?"  
  
"With the exception of Colin Creevy who was with Dumbledore when he disappeared, yes."  
  
"So you are convinced that he has been taken against his will?"  
  
"Even without the confirmation I have received I would have considered his letter extremely strange."  
  
"Confirmation?"  
  
"Liam Blackdon was good enough to cast his eye over it and said that whoever sent it didn't want anyone knowing exactly where it had come from."  
  
"Is that so? Prey tell, Professor McGonagall: How is it that the students with the most extreme talents always seem to gravitate towards your house?"  
  
"In all truth I do not know, Professor Snape. Perhaps it is just meant to be," said McGonagall in a very proud voice.  
  
"Indeed," replied Snape, sounding rather put out at the answer he'd just received.  
  
"Curiouser and curiouser," I mulled as the two members of staff went their separate ways. "Do pupils normally leave before the end of term?"  
  
"Not usually," replied Harry as we resumed our walk towards Gryffindor Tower. "In fact, a lot of us stay here."  
  
"What, over Christmas itself?"  
  
He nodded. "For some of us school is better than home."  
  
"Oh, yeah," I added, remembering what he'd told me about his Aunt and Uncle. "Don't they live in Surrey too?"  
  
"Yeah... I bet Aunt Petunia's well annoyed with this snow," Harry smiled. "She hates anything that messes up the garden."  
  
"Want to borrow Monty for a week? I'm sure he'd make short work of the lawns."  
  
"Thanks, but I'm not sure even he could survive Aunt Petunia in one of her rages..."  
  
We reached the portrait hole and found the fat lady busy knitting what looked to be a pair of leggings.  
  
"For my sister, you know. She lives in a very drafty canvas up by the astronomy tower," she explained.  
  
Ron gave the password ("Danglement") and she swung aside, allowing us to climb through.  
  
It was lovely and warm in the common room, and quiet too. I guessed that most of the other Gryffindors were probably still in Hogsmeade. We settled down into our respective armchairs and sofa, Harry and I immediately being set upon by Monty who had obviously decided that we'd left him forever and, as such, was stupidly excited to see us again.  
  
After he'd settled down on my lap with me scratching behind his ears, we started discussing what exactly we'd do.  
  
"So the Dark, then," I started. "It's still very much on the forefront of people's minds?"  
  
"Well, our minds at least," said Harry. "After Voldemort tried to kill me and hurt himself instead, most people seemed to think that he was gone forever. I think the whole idea of the dark is so scary to people that they'd rather just try and ignore it and hope it doesn't bother them."  
  
"To be honest, Voldemort aside, I don't know much about the Dark," admitted Hermione.  
  
"I'm sorry? Do my ears deceive me?" grinned Ron. Hermione continued after giving him a playful clip round the ear.  
  
"I don't think any of us considered there was anything more evil beyond Voldemort. He was like the embodiment of all things bad, but if there's more to this than that - which when you think about it there must be - it's altogether more frightening."  
  
"So where do we start?" asked Ron, playing up rubbing his ear for Hermione's sake.  
  
"Well, it might be an idea to see if we can find out why all of these Slytherins have been sent home early," suggested Harry. "Seeing as out of all of them we know Malfoy the best I reckon we should try and find him. And from what Dobby says his Father is also as 'in' as he can be with the Dark whilst maintaining a supposedly respectable public face."  
  
"We know he's in Surrey, so how do we find out where exactly?" I asked.  
  
"Snape said he was staying with a relation down there. I know the school keeps records of next of kin and such should they find that something has happened to a pupil's parents. It might be an idea to look there first," suggested Hermione.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to know where these records are kept would you?" Harry asked.  
  
"The Headmaster's study," I replied. "When I first arrived he showed me the records of one of my ancestors. They're kept in all those books behind his desk."  
  
"So we're going to break into Dumbledore's office?" asked Ron looking more than a little concerned.  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"Tonight?"  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"And this doesn't concern you? I mean, we're breaking and entering into the office of Britain's greatest wizard - don't you think he might have some kind of ward in place to stop that?"  
  
"Oh I'm sure," smiled Harry. "But he also seems to have a knack of turning a blind eye when he knows its for the best. I don't see why his office security would be any different."  
  
"OK - Dumbledore's office tonight. If we find what we're looking for, we'll set off to see Mr. Malfoy via Liam's house. If not, we'll regroup Sunday morning and go from there. Agreed?"  
  
"Agreed. We'll meet here at 1AM, OK?"  
  
Everyone concurred. Hermione and Ron made some excuse about wanting to learn more about the Dark and headed off back towards the library, leaving Harry and myself alone on the sofa in front of a roaring fire. Bliss.  
  
"Are we doing the right thing, d'you think?" asked Harry after we'd been sat snuggling for one of those indeterminate periods of time you suddenly realise has passed when you're with someone you love.  
  
"To be honest - I don't know. What I do know is that I'm not willing to stand by knowing that both Dumbledore and my Father have just vanished without a trace."  
  
"In which case, it's the right thing," surmised Harry. "You do know that whenever we undertake this kind of thing it usually seems to rapidly spiral out of control."  
  
"Well, if it's any consolation, I feel like I could take on the world with you by my side. And if you weren't by my side for whatever reason, I'd take on the world to get to you."  
  
Harry turned to look at me. "You're awfully sweet for a car thief," he smiled.  
  
I kissed him on the nose. "I think those days are behind me now. You have to remember that breaking and entering is a life-skill, though: Could be quite useful this evening."  
  
"This is true," he said, and kissed me back on the lips.  
  
"Do you believe in fate?"  
  
"I don't know," Harry pondered. "I mean, it was extraordinarily lucky you nicked that car. If you hadn't..."  
  
"I'd never have met Colin and Ron..."  
  
"And you'd never have come here..."  
  
"And we wouldn't have met. Then again, you can reverse-engineer any chain of events. I mean, what if your Dad hadn't met your Mum - you'd never have been born and even if I did come here we still wouldn't have met."  
  
"And Voldemort might have been ruling the country."  
  
"Oh, shit yeah - never thought about that."  
  
"I mean, was I destined to be Voldemort's antit... antisi... an..." He frowned. "Worst nightmare?"  
  
"This could do your brain in after a while," I smiled. "Although if you take this to its extreme, you could blame everything that happened on one event - the big bang, or the creation of the world or whatever you want to call it."  
  
"True, but doesn't it say that God gave us free will?"  
  
"Yeah - so that means everything is just chance."  
  
"Can't be. There is a higher order to things, I think, but what if it was more like a gentle nudge in a particular direction? Like, we're offered the choice and it's weighted so that we're more likely to take one route than another - it's free will, yet directed at the same time."  
  
"What, like a subconscious suggestion?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"Or someone 'charged with gathering the members of the Circle by conscious request or otherwise'," I said.  
  
Harry sat up on the sofa causing Monty to stir and snuggle down again. The light was well on the way to disappearing outside and we were now illuminated by little other than the warm glow of the fire.  
  
"D'you think we're circle members?"  
  
"I have no idea. I suppose everything we've done up to now has been totally reactive - it's all been in response to events that have occurred, but what if someone's controlling those events?"  
  
"We'd be shepherded down a certain route,"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Do you think we could be part of the Circle?"  
  
"I don't see why not - someone who's near-as-dammit killed the corporeal form of the Dark and an Elf that can make his will reality: Sound like a pair of candidates to me."  
  
"So... Say we were two of the Six: How on earth would we know what to do?" asked Harry.  
  
"I'm guessing we wouldn't if we came into the 'or otherwise' category. We'd just have to carry on doing what we're doing and trust in fate. Or rather the Orchestrator."  
  
"I certainly hope _HE_ knows what he's doing."  
  
"Well, assuming he's had his oar in since the start of all this, he's done a pretty good job when you think about it..."  
  
"I suppose... Still, he could've just come and asked."  
  
"Maybe. But perhaps then we wouldn't have done something, or done something differently, had he done so."  
  
"You know, you're absolutely right: This does hurt your brain!"  
  
==========  
  
"Thanks for helping," smiled Draco as he and Will flopped onto the rather large bed in his room in Mrs. Pettigrew's house. Will marvelled at how the house was furnished - everything looked to be extremely old and worn, yet somehow exuded a solidity that the Ikean monstrosities at his own house couldn't even hope to approximate.  
  
"It's not a problem, Draco, honestly! How long are you here for?"  
  
"Not sure, actually. My Father got me here from school for some reason."  
  
"Oh, cool. Where d'you go to school?"  
  
"Scotland. It's a private school for... Uh... Talented students. How about you?"  
  
"Me? I just go to the local comprehensive. Nothin' special really."  
  
"Ahh."  
  
There was a slightly uncomfortable silence before Will stood.  
  
"Right, well, I'd better be going," he said. "Nice to meet you, Draco,"  
  
"Uh - would you like to stay for lunch?" offered Draco quickly, scrabbling for an excuse to keep Will with him.  
  
"Thank you, but no. Nothing personal," he added as he saw Draco deflate quite visibly. "It's just that my family are expecting me for lunch. I'd invite you round, but I'm afraid the whole family are back for once."  
  
"Oh? How many of you are there?"  
  
"Well, there's me, the youngest. Paul's 16, Luke and John are both 18 - they're twins, Chris is 23 and Jim is 25. And Mum and Dad of course."  
  
"Hehe one short," said Draco.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You'd have been a seventh son,"  
  
"And that's good because..."  
  
"Oh, nothing really," said Draco dismissively. "It's an old myth that a seventh son can have a gift for healing people or something like that. They say if you're a seventh son of a seventh son then you can have almost supernatural powers."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"As I say - old wives tales. I'll have to ask Mrs. Pettigrew about it," he grinned.  
  
Will smiled back. "I'll see you around, Draco - I live in the next house down - just drop by if you want."  
  
"I will do. Thanks again Will."  
  
"See ya."  
  
And with that, Will jogged down the stairs, waved to Mrs. Pettigrew on the way out and pulled the collar of his coat up to his ears as he stepped out into the snow once again.  
  
He turned out of the driveway on to the road and was suddenly engulfed by a flurry of snowflakes whipped up by a wind so strong he found it difficult to catch his breath. Barely able to see where he was going, Will leaned into the wind and battled on down towards his own house, but as he did so the wind continued to rise.  
  
In exasperation and more than a little fear, he grabbed on to what little of the hedge was protruding from the snow drift he'd stumbled in to. Taking a moment to get his breath back, he suddenly became aware of a figure standing on the far side of the road.  
  
The figure was looking directly at Will and, as it did so, lifted its arm and pointed at him. He could feel his head swimming with confusion and wasn't even sure exactly where his own house was or even where he'd just come from. All he could concentrate on was the dark, cloaked figure with an outstretched arm.  
  
In fact, he was so tied up with the stranger that he was not at all ready for the large hand that grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him out of the snowdrift. He screamed out loud, not knowing what on earth was happening to him.  
  
"Easy there, Will," boomed the deep voice of the hand's owner. "You looked ready enough to pass out!"  
  
"Uh... Uncle Merry? Uncle Merry!" yelled Will, wrapping his arms around the man's waist.  
  
"Hello, William," he chuckled. "You want to be careful walking alone. These are Dark times, and there is only one man that is truly at ease by himself in these conditions. Come on - let's get you inside."  
  
And with that, he took Will's hand and led him towards the house. Will looked over his shoulder as they walked, but there was no sign of the cloaked figure, and the wind seemed to have dropped just as quickly as it had arrived.  
  
He looked up to see the familiar profile of Merriman Lyon's face silhouetted against the grey sky, complete with his trademark hooked nose, square chin and sou'wester.  
  
When they reached the Stantons' front door, Merriman did as he always did and rang the doorbell. To the Stantons, he had some very strange mannerisms and traditions, this being one of them: No matter who he was accompanied by, be it family member, friend or relative, Merry insisted on ringing the doorbell and waiting until he was invited inside. In this instance, Will's curiosity got the better of him.  
  
"Why do you do that Uncle Merry?"  
  
"What's that, William?"  
  
"Ring the doorbell when you know Dad's said you can just let yourself in."  
  
"Ahh," said Merriman in his 'I'm just about to impart some wisdom' voice. "You are never truly welcome in a man's house until that man invites you across the threshold. A man's house is his castle, Will - never forget that."  
  
The answer that Merriman gave was to Will as elegant as it was useless. He knew, however, that once Merry had given his answer, there would be no elaboration unless it was strictly necessary.  
  
The door was opened a moment later by Mr. Stanton.  
  
"And there's the king of the castle now," he smiled.  
  
"Merry! Good to see you again!" smiled Mr. Stanton, pulling the handshake he was sharing with Merriman into a hug.  
  
"I found something of yours out in the snow," he said, standing aside to reveal Will. "You know you should tie small items down in storms."  
  
"Hey - I've grown lots since you were last here," snorted Will indignantly.  
  
"Indeed you have, William, but your growing is yet to be completed. May I come in, Mr. Stanton?"  
  
"As ever, you are more than welcome, Merry. C'mon, Will - let's get you warmed up. Sue! Merry's here!"  
  
From the opposite side of the road, the cloaked figure watched Merriman Lyon and Will Stanton enter the house before vanishing in a flurry of snowflakes. 


	12. Release and Resolution

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER TWELVE:: Release and Resolution.  
  
"Shall I tell you one problem with boarding school?"  
  
"What's that then?"  
  
"No real privacy," I said to Harry as the various members of Gryffindor filtered back into the tower after the day's activities.  
  
Harry thought about this for a second. "Be right back."  
  
A few moments later, he reappeared holding what looked like a carefully folded cloth and a sheet of parchment.  
  
He evicted a second former that had sneaked his spot on the sofa in the few seconds he was gone and sat back down next to me.  
  
"These are my two most valued possessions," Harry explained. "This is an invisibility cloak, and..."  
  
"What, you put that on and you become invisible?"  
  
"That's the general idea."  
  
"Cool!"  
  
"And this is the Marauder's Map. It shows you where everyone in the school grounds is."  
  
"Looks like a blank sheet of parchment to me," I observed.  
  
"Watch," said Harry, producing his wand. He touched the tip of it to the parchment and said "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."  
  
On the parchment almost immediately there appeared a full floor-by-floor diagram of the castle and its grounds, including all of the secret passageways and the various passwords and actions needed to get into them.  
  
"Dare I ask where you got this from?"  
  
"Actually, my Dad and his friends made it when they were here. Like father, like son I suppose," he grinned mischievously.  
  
"Wow... Hey look - there's us!"  
  
Sure enough, on the parchment in the room labelled 'Gryffindor Common Room' were a pair of dots, one labelled 'H. Potter', the other 'L. Blackdon'. Harry's eyes scanned over the map until he spotted 'A. Filch' in the dungeons, complete with an adjacent 'Mrs. Norris'. 'Peeves' was drifting in and out of various dungeons ahead of Filch, obviously leading the caretaker on a wild goose-chase of one sort or another, and there were no signs of any members of staff in any of the main corridors.  
  
"Cool - coast's clear - let's go."  
  
"Where to?"  
  
"The Shrieking Shack. You want privacy - you're gonna get it!"  
  
"Do you mean the privacy or..."  
  
"Whatever you want," he grinned.  
  
As inconspicuously as we could (which was in all likelihood extremely conspicuous given the amount of loud whispering and giggling) we made our way from Gryffindor tower and out into the cold. It was still snowing and for a moment, the feeling of despair and despondency that came with the snow threatened to become dominant. Harry, however, chose that exact moment to pinch my bum, knocking the darker thoughts for six.   
  
He led me over to an extremely large, gnarled Willow tree. As we approached, the snow that had collected on its contorted branches started to fall in chunks to the ground. It took me a moment to realise why the snow had become dislodged - the tree was moving! It looked almost as if it was stretching its muscles, rather as a cat does just after it wakes up.  
  
"This is a whomping willow," explained Harry. "It was put here to beat seven bells out of anyone and anything that goes near it."  
  
"And so we're near it because..."  
  
"We have to get into that passageway by its roots."  
  
"But you just said that it would..."  
  
Harry took a lump of fallen branch and pulled the few remaining twigs from it. He then started to walk closer to the tree and, as he said, it began to flail its branches defensively.  
  
Quite deftly, Harry waited for the larger branch to swish by before poking a knot in the trunk with his stick. The moment he made contact with it, the tree froze, becoming as still as its less gifted cousins.  
  
"C'mon," whispered Harry. "Just duck through into that tunnel."  
  
I did as I was told and found myself in a not-quite-tall-enough-to-be-comfortable tunnel that looked as if it had been forgotten for many years. Dead vines hung through the opening and lumps of moss were scattered around some of the larger cracks in the walls and floor. The air was cool but not freezing down here, allowing drips of water to splash to the floor at various irregular intervals.  
  
A second later, Harry landed behind me to the whooshing sound of the whomping willow straightening itself up and calming down a little.  
  
"C'mon," he said, taking me by the hand and leading me down the tunnel into the darkness. So absolute was the absence of illumination that I totally lost all concept of distance. By the time a dull-grey dot appeared directly ahead of us signifying the end of the tunnel, I could not have said if we'd travelled a couple of hundred meters or three-quarters of a mile.  
  
As we emerged into the shrieking shack, I did know that it certainly felt good to be stood properly upright again. As I stretched, Harry hugged me to him and unreservedly placed his lips on mine and kissed me hard.  
  
"Welcome to the Shrieking Shack!"  
  
"Friendly place," I chuckled.  
  
Looking around in the dingy light that fought its way through the dusty, threadbare curtains, I could see we had just emerged from a wooden panel in a small hallway with the front door at one end and a narrow, rickety staircase that led up to the floor immediately in front of us. Off to the right was another door and an archway that led through to what appeared to be another room.  
  
"Who owns this place?" I asked as we creaked our way up the stairs.  
  
"Hogwarts does, but it's not common knowledge. See, one of my Dad's friends was a werewolf, and..."  
  
"A werewolf? No way!"  
  
"Really! Dumbledore was the only headmaster to ever allow a werewolf to attend Hogwarts as a student. He had the tunnel built between the school grounds and the shack so that every month Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black and my father could come here to keep Remus company while he was away from school. Anyway," he said, pulling me into one of the rooms on the first floor, "This is our place now, and we can make as much noise as we like and do whatever we want. Hence Shrieking Shack..."  
  
"Sounds rather appealing," I said as we both eyed the King-size four-poster in the centre of the room. "The place could do with a little spring cleaning though," I added.  
  
With a couple of thoughts, the old threadbare drapes had been replaced by brand new ones. The bare wooden floor was covered by a lush, deep-pile carpet and the temperature of the room rose by a good few degrees. The dirt and dust that seemed to cover every surface in the room magically lifted itself away, leaving the room in the majestic state it once knew.  
  
Another thought brought the old candles in their lamps to life, augmenting the silvery light from outside with a deep orange glow.  
  
"Hmm - quite romantic, if I do say so myself."  
  
Harry took me by the hand and led me to the bed. He sat down on the edge and carefully removed his glasses, hooking them over the foot-board. He then proceeded to shrug off his cloak and start to unbutton his shirt, never breaking eye contact with me for a second. Taking the very strong hint that he was in no mood for wasting time, I began to pull my boots off and unzip my trousers. Within a minute, we were both clad in only our boxer shorts, each of which were tented quite significantly.  
  
Harry stood and faced me, the tip of his erection playing ever so gently over my own through the two thin layers of cotton. I ran my fingers through his thick, wayward hair before pulling him towards me so I could kiss him.  
  
Our lips met and, not satisfied, I inserted my tongue into his mouth. He quickly allowed me entrance and sucked me in deeper. He'd now wrapped his arms around me, crushing our midsections together deliciously. I in turn ran my hands up and down his smooth back, tracing the course of his spine with my fingertips, causing him to shiver.  
  
I couldn't easily concentrate on the feelings Harry was invoking whilst standing, so I pulled away from our kiss and fell backwards with him on top of me on to the bed. Immediately he crawled down my body and squeezed my testicles through my boxers and started to tease me by allowing his fingertips to venture up the leg holes and gently play over my bollocks. My dick twitched, aching for some attention, but Harry was intent on playing this his own way.   
  
After a few moments he knelt up on the bed, looking me straight in the eyes. As he did so, he hooked his thumbs under the elastic of his boxers and pulled them out and then down to clear his hardon.  
  
His elegant six-and-a-half inches were revealed to me, surrounded by a concentrated clump of black pubic hairs at the base and supported by a pair of plump, full-looking testicles. At this sight, all memories of my magical abilities, my non-human side, the Rising of the Dark and the implied disappearance of my Father were temporarily banished. There was only one thing on my mind now, and he was stood, stark bollock naked, right in front of me.  
  
Harry moved towards me once again, this time sliding his hands over my stomach. As he did this, he straddled my midsection, leaned in and kissed me once more. As I tasted him again, he allowed his fingers to roam over the upper half of my torso, tracing his fingertips over my nipples (which immediately stiffened under the attention) and gently playing with my underarm hair.  
  
Whilst we kissed, I felt him lower his hips slightly, rubbing the tip of his erection around over my boxers. Once or twice his phallus managed to reach under one of the leg openings or through the fly, allowing me fleeting contacts with him, causing us both to shiver.  
  
Harry continued to play around like this for another couple of minutes before I could no longer stand to be hampered by my boxers. With a quick flip I turned him over so I was now on top, gazing down into his deep emerald eyes. His hair had now succumbed to gravity and vacated his forehead, allowing me to see his scar unobscured.  
  
As briskly as I could, I stepped backwards off the edge of the bed and pulled my own boxers down causing my dick to slap back to its upright position as soon as my boxers were clear. From this new vantage point, I could fully appreciate just how beautiful Harry looked.  
  
His shins were draped over the edge of the bed and spread enough to allow his testicles to nestle comfortably between his thighs. Although his shins sported quite a covering of his same black hair, it soon faded to non-existence as it progressed up his body and left his pubic area totally devoid outside of his bush.  
  
Moving further up, he had a very light treasure trail that led up from his pubes, although this was now obscured by his high state of arousal. His chest alternated from flat to slightly concave as he breathed, allowing his ribs to show around his light but well-defined muscles.  
  
Still further up was a broad pair of shoulders leading finally to his handsome face. He was looking rather hungrily at my own stiffy and I felt in no position to deny him something he wanted so badly.  
  
I climbed on to the bed next to him and turned around so we were head to toe before straddling him once again. With his dick now in such close proximity to my face I could now start to pleasure him properly. His scent was a whole lot stronger here, carried to my nose from the heat of his loins. If it was attributable to pheromones, hormones or just the fact that it was Harry's scent I can not be sure, but it took nearly all of my willpower to stop myself from ejaculating there and then.  
  
I took his hardon in my hand and gently pulled his foreskin all the way back, exposing his delicate dickhead. Gripping him slightly more firmly, I then stroked back up his length, causing a large drop of precum to appear at the tip. I extended my tongue and licked the sweet, sticky droplet away before exposing his head once more and swirling my tongue around it.  
  
Harry bucked his hips and let out a loud groan, serving only to spur me on. He tasted just as he smelled which encouraged me to take as much of his length as I could in his mouth.  
  
As I did so, Harry did the same to me, engulfing my erection with his hot, extremely dexterous mouth. As he sucked on me, I could feel the tip of his tongue darting round, probing intensely at the tip before squirming its way between my dickhead and my foreskin.  
  
I started bobbing my head on Harry's dick and felt him start to hit the back of my throat. As a reflex reaction I swallowed, which just caused Harry to buck against me even harder, building up a steady rhythm which complimented my head-bobbing.  
  
After experimenting slightly, I found an angle where I could allow a larger portion of Harry's nob into my mouth and down my throat, which again caused me to swallow involuntarily. As Harry groaned again, I could feel his hot exhaled breath playing over my testicles. I shuffled my arms so that instead of running parallel with his body they were now pointed inwards towards his bum, giving me access to his arse cheeks and hole.  
  
As we sucked each other, I began to explore his crack, prodding and poking with my fingers. His arse felt firm as he thrust into my mouth, subsiding into his hot, twitching arsehole. I extended my index finger and allowed it to play over it in time with his thrusts until the tip gradually worked its way inside. The heat was unbelievable yet, as we sucked and pumped against each other, I could feel it gradually begin to loosen.  
  
Within a couple of minutes, I had nearly my entire index finger inside Harry. Every move and sound he made I could feel through him and it made me want to bring him as much pleasure as was feasibly possible. As I twisted my finger round, massaging and teasing his insides, I found a lump that I presumed was his prostate.  
  
Gently yet firmly, I pushed against it and was rewarded with a little jet of precum squirting into my mouth. Harry also squeaked and bucked his hips a little faster as I touched him there, and a second later I felt my own arse being investigated and poked.  
  
Realising that his backside could be a whole new source of pleasure for my Harry, I carefully withdrew my finger and used my now-liberated hands to move from his bum to the base of his spine. I tried to lift his pelvis a little more to allow me to get my head between his legs, however it was just a little too awkward to manage. Instead, Harry pulled my left arm back with his free hand, leaving me balancing on three limbs. He then brought his leg up behind my arm and lodged it over my shoulder. This had the desired effect of both lifting his arse and opening it a little wider.  
  
Taking this as a very positive sign that I was allowed to continue, I dipped my head into and beyond his crotch, finally spying his most intimate place. Not quite knowing what to expect, I extended my tongue and took a trial lick over his arsehole. Finding nothing but a slightly more musky Harry-taste, I pressed a little harder and squirmed my tongue into his backside. My tongue had never received such a workout before, but nevertheless it did a wonderful job of squirming and pushing its way into him.  
  
All the while this was happening, Harry's nob was rubbing on my Adam's apple, leaving a sticky trail of precum all over my throat. Harry himself was not idle during all of this, instead sucking harder than ever at my erection that was buried to the hilt in his mouth.  
  
Suddenly, he pushed me up enough so that my erection slipped from between his lips.  
  
"S... Stop a sec," he panted. "I need you to fuck me."  
  
With a final slurp that caused him to squeak with a shivery pleasure again, I withdrew my tongue and manoeuvred myself so we were face to face. He leaped on me and kissed and hugged me with such force he almost winded me, but it was a secondary consideration as our two dicks mashed up against one another. He moved off my mouth and started licking his own precum off my chin and throat as I continued to hump up against him.  
  
Once he'd cleaned me down with his tongue, he indicated that I should rest up against the padded headboard of the huge four-poster. I did so and watched as Harry shuffled himself so he was kneeling over my dick. He took hold of my erection and held it vertically, gently guiding it towards his arse. He looked at me and smiled slightly as I felt my dick start to push against his rosebud. I could feel him relax and open himself to me as my dickhead was gradually engulfed by him.  
  
The heat and pressure he exerted were excruciatingly pleasurable and I could do nothing but watch in amazement as my dick gradually disappeared into him. Eventually he came to rest with his nuts sat cosily on my lower stomach. His arsehole was involuntarily spasming as it desperately tried to get used to my dick, but each time he clamped down I had to suck in breath and clench the bed sheets to prevent myself from blowing my now very overdue load into him.  
  
Harry's dick was twitching and jerking too having lost none of its hardness as I entered him. We stayed like that for a few moments before either of us dared move. We were now well and truly coupled, about to express our total love for one another as physically as we could. I smiled up at Harry as he beamed back at me. His hair was even more wayward than usual, slightly matted with sweat, but to me he looked perfect.  
  
"I wish I could see you clearly," he said, looking ever so slightly sad for a moment.  
  
I smiled back at him and took his head in my hands, gently stroking his cheeks with my thumbs. "You can," I said, willing it to be so.  
  
He gasped audibly as his vision suddenly pulled into focus. "Thank you," he whispered almost inaudibly and leaned in to kiss me. I let my arms fold about his neck as we kissed once again, this time with the added stimulus of my dick in him. He began to swing his hips back and forth, gently pulling away from me before re-impaling himself. The angle we were now at ensured his forward thrusts pressed his dick into my tummy, his rearward ones rapidly sending me towards orgasm.  
  
We began to pick up the pace, sensing each other's very real and very urgent need for release. Between us, we were sure there would be other opportunities to repeat this experience and hence were eager to climax as well as experience the other's release.  
  
I moved from Harry's mouth and started to nibble his neck as I began to hump my hips up to meet his own downward thrusts. I felt Harry's breathing become more irregular and his heartbeat accelerate even further. His nails dug into my back as he pushed himself down on to me as hard as he could one final time, his arsehole clamped tightly around my dick as he began to cum.  
  
His sticky liquid jetted up between us, each spurt accompanied by an even harder squeeze of his arse followed by an almost total release of grip on me. His little whimpers and grunts as he came pushed me to ejaculation as well, pushing into him in a very staccato fashion as my testicles produced squirt after squirt for Harry.  
  
Even after there was no liquid left to expel both of us continued to climax, each of us grunting and moaning in extreme pleasure until our respective climaxes gently subsided into an incredibly peaceful and satisfying lull. Almost not daring to move in case we should shatter the moment, we gently released each other from our do-or-die embraces so we could look at one another. Harry's peaceful green eyes shone out from under his fringe, shouting his satisfaction at what we had just done. I leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips as he still sat straddling me.  
  
"I love you," I said to him. "You are more than I could ever deserve."  
  
"I could say the same," he smiled back. "But I shan't. As you said earlier, perhaps we were meant to be together. Whatever the case, I haven't felt this at ease with someone in my entire life. I love you too, Liam."  
  
We gently lowered ourselves sideways ensuring that we stayed coupled. Harry snuggled his hips down further against mine, squeezing as much of my half-hard dick into himself as he could whilst his cum dribbled down off our chests onto the sheets. Wrapped around and tied to each other, we fell into the most fulfilling and peaceful sleep either one of us could remember.  
  
==========  
  
Draco Malfoy lay on his bed scrutinising the hairline cracks in the plaster on the ceiling. Damn he was bored. He'd had a pleasant enough lunch with Mrs. Pettigrew and found that she was actually quite fun to talk to and was not the insufferable bore of an old lady he'd pictured. Yes, she did have some very strange mannerisms, but then again he couldn't think of a single person over the age of sixty who didn't.  
  
His mind meandered from Mrs. Pettigrew to the substantially more interesting character of Will. Rather out of character for Draco, he found himself confused. Normally he was very decisive and had a clear-cut, empirical stance on any problem or issue that came his way. Nonetheless, he found himself faced with a quandary over which he could not make a snap decision. There were no clearly defined choices: Everything seemed rather fuzzy and nondescript.  
  
Here he was, a Pureblood wizard descended from a long line of wizards that were generally either famous or infamous in their own time, the present generation being no exception. Tradition dictated that he should not strictly engage himself even with halfbloods, never mind a muggle! And yet Will Stanton had, in the past couple of hours, provided Draco with something that had not been given to him before without condition: Friendship.  
  
The more he thought about it, the more Draco was astonished that Will had even given him the time of day after his - well, insolence - when they first met. He cringed inside as he thought back on that moment, and then marvelled at how Will had brushed it aside without saying another word.  
  
In contrast, he had been brought up to harbour grudges and to never forget any wrong against him. That way, he could remind the perpetrator of his or her wrongdoing at a tactically advantageous moment.  
  
Draco felt ashamed of himself - another emotion that had rarely, if ever, crossed his mind. Usually he was proud: He was a Malfoy, the latest in a long line of great, Pureblood wizards. He was good looking and prided himself in his appearance, taking great satisfaction in the looks he attracted. He was wealthy and was never afraid to remind people of how powerful and affluent his family was.  
  
Will by contrast was humble: Genuine, true and with none of the pomp and posturing to which he was so accustomed when dealing with his 'friends' in Slytherin. Come to think of it, as blind as he had been to it before, Will had many of the attributes he'd observed (from a respectably aloof distance, of course) in Harry Potter. He'd just mis-interpreted it before, and this made him even more annoyed at himself.  
  
'Actually, no,' thought Draco. 'I was brought up to think like that. Perhaps under different circumstances...'  
  
He frowned at the ceiling, which was still there and still had the rather annoying cracks in it.  
  
'Sod it,' he thought. 'I'm fifteen and I can make my own mind up about people. And myself,' he pondered.  
  
Draco was more than a little disquieted about how he felt for Will. He knew how his father would react to him fraternising with Muggles. He also knew how his father would react to Draco telling him he was attracted to another boy. The combination of both, he knew, would be truly explosive.   
  
Deciding that he didn't particularly want or need the grief from his Father at that time, he resolved to a 'don't ask, don't tell' idea. He knew that given his Father's connections he would never be able to keep up any form of pretence for an extended period, but there would be no harm in enjoying himself in the mean time.  
  
He resolved to turn over a new leaf. He would become the person _HE_ wanted to be rather than towing the line and emulating the character he was expected to become by his immediate family.  
  
'Fuck tradition,' he thought. He smiled as he imagined himself saying those very words to his Father back at Malfoy Manor. Safe in the environment of his mind's eye, he could see just how comical his Father's rages appeared and how petty or prejudiced some of the 'values' he held actually were.  
  
With this new philosophy in mind - one that appeared to resolve all facets of his quandary quite successfully - Draco sat himself up off the bed and went over to the large oval mirror mounted on the dressing table opposite.  
  
He looked at his slicked-back hair and decided that while it was perfectly acceptable - nay stylish - at Hogwarts, it was more than a little ostentatious in the Muggle world.  
  
He also had to do something about his clothes: They were far too light for this rather severe weather without the use of a winter cloak which again was, by it's very nature, unacceptable for passing himself off as a Muggle.  
  
He kicked himself mentally for this lack of foresight, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. He hated not having planned for every eventuality, but as a slight compromise with himself he did decide this wasn't the kind of scenario he could have reasonably expected. Ten hours ago he would never have conceived of trying his best to fit in with anyone, much less a load of Muggles. Now, however, it was at the very top of his list of priorities. As much as he wanted to avoid doing this, he knew it was the only way he might be able to get some vaguely 'normal' clothes.  
  
He walked downstairs and into the drawing room. "Um... Mrs. P.. I mean Auntie Pettigrew?"  
  
"Yes, dear?"  
  
"You wouldn't happen to have any old clothes that would fit me, would you? Like a pair of jeans and a jumper or something?"  
  
"I was wondering when you were going to get out of those stupid things," she chuckled, nodding at Draco's clothes.  
  
Ordinarily, he would have countered that with a monumental diatribe explaining how expensive they were and how they'd been tailor made just for him. Once his superiority had been established, he would then launch a verbal assault at his opponent, making sure he went into excruciating detail as he pointed out all of their own garments' inadequacies and shortcomings, usually with a couple of highly personal insults thrown in for good measure.  
  
However, with his new resolve, he felt forced to agree with her: They were rather silly and totally inappropriate for muggle-world use, and laughed along with her.  
  
"I think I might have some of my friend's son's clothes somewhere - you look to be about his size. They used to stay here quite a bit,"  
  
"Thanks," smiled Draco.  
  
"Where are you off to?"  
  
"Oh... Uh... N.. Nowhere in particular. Just exploring..."  
  
"You ought to go over and see Will - I bet he's just as bored as you are."  
  
"Oh, OK," smiled Draco, pleased someone else had come up with the idea rather than him having to suggest it.  
  
She led him back upstairs to the airing cupboard and after a good few minutes' foraging, she'd managed to produce a pair of jeans, a couple of shirts, a sweatshirt and a very warm-looking jumper.  
  
"There you are," she smiled, offering each article up against the appropriate parts of his body before handing them to him. "Oh, and here's a belt, too - he wasn't quite as slim as you, Draco."  
  
"Is it all right if I take a bath?" he enquired.  
  
"Help yourself, dear. There should be plenty of hot water," and with that, Mrs. Pettigrew rumbled off down to the drawing room once again.  
  
Wasting no time, Draco retrieved a towel and some shampoo from his trunk and locked himself in the bathroom. As was common to houses that age, the bath was a rather large, free-standing enamel affair with taps that would have looked more at home on the side of an oil tanker than in a bathroom.  
  
He filled the bath with steaming hot water, stepped in and felt the tension in his muscles begin to wane. He washed his hair a couple of times to ensure that all of the gel he used to slick his hair back was well and truly eradicated before moving on to the rest of his body.   
  
He winced slightly as he caught the finger that had been leaned on by me in the Hospital wing on the tap. He thought back to how vicious he'd been to Hermione and, in retrospect, decided he was well out of order and in the grand scheme of things he'd got off quite lightly. Next time he saw her, he'd apologise.  
  
Draco's thoughts turned back to washing himself. As he did so, he still couldn't help but be proud: He freely acknowledged that whilst he wasn't the strongest or most muscly person in the world, there wasn't an ounce of fat on him.  
  
Moving the focus of washing gradually down his body had its usual effect, culminating in his seven-inch erection lying flat against his taut stomach. Draco took a deep breath as he wrapped his long, slender fingers around his hardon, allowing himself the luxury of a few strokes before forcing himself to stop. The light was already fading, and he wanted to get to the Stantons' before it became completely dark.  
  
He finished washing, rinsed himself down and dried himself off with the emerald green towel, complete with the Slytherin House coat of arms embroidered in the corner. He smiled as he caught sight of the serpentine logo. Oh how shocked and horrified his peers would be if they knew his thoughts now. But that in itself pleased Draco - he liked being unpredictable and perhaps even a little mysterious. True, this wasn't the kind of unpredictability he usually had in mind, but he felt happier with the decisions he'd just made than any of the petty scheming that he'd undertaken back at Hogwarts.  
  
Smiling to himself, he began to dress in his 'new' clothes. Mrs. Pettigrew had been right in thinking that her friend's son was slightly larger than Draco: The jeans were doing their level best to part company with his hips without the assistance of a belt. Once secured in place, Draco surveyed himself in the mirror. His hair was still wet and arranged randomly by the buffing it had received from his towel, but the Potter look didn't suit him.  
  
Instead, he took a brush and in a departure from his normal combed back style, he parted it centrally so that it hung down in curtains either side of his eyes. 'Yes - not bad at all,' he surmised to himself.  
  
Pleased with the overall outcome, he took a moment to clean up the bathroom and then trotted downstairs to say goodbye to Mrs. Pettigrew.  
  
"My word!" she exclaimed. "A Malfoy wearing jeans! I need to get the camera..."  
  
"I'm going to walk over to the Stantons' - I'll probably be back in a while,"  
  
"Don't worry, dear," she smiled. "You go and have fun. If you think you're going to be very late, just get young Will to phone me." Seeing the blank look on Draco's face, she got up again and went to the bureau. She scribbled a number on a sheet of paper and handed it to Draco, explaining that he should just give him the paper and he'd know what to do.  
  
He thanked her once again for the loan of the clothes and set out into the cold afternoon air towards the Stantons' house. 


	13. Orchestration

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:: Orchestration.  
  
AUTHORS' NOTE: Apologies for the long delay between chapters, unfortunately real life managed to get in the way! Things should get back to normal now, though :-)  
  
Colin woke to find a hand gently shaking his shoulder. Remembering where he was and what had happened, he reflexively pulled away.  
  
"It's all right, Colin," came Dumbledore's extremely tired voice. from the chair beside him.  
  
"You... You're alive sir," he stumbled, squinting in the dim firelight.  
  
"I'm a tough old boot, but I'm also extremely lucky: You burst in and distracted him from his spell casting. I'm afraid I'm still very weak, but I am alive, and that is all thanks to you."  
  
"What are we going to do, sir?"  
  
"My absence - and yours no doubt - will not have gone un-noticed at Hogwarts. They will be looking for us, Colin, but I am afraid they will have little idea as to where to start. That is why I am placing a lot of hope in Harry and his friends."  
  
"Harry and Liam and... Why them?"  
  
"As Voldemort said, there is something greater than himself about to launch itself upon this country. It is an ancient evil that has plagued this world since before history."  
  
"The Dark?"  
  
"Yes, Colin, the Dark. It is the collective name we give to all things that oppose us, the Light. It can manifest itself once a century, and it is up to a group of people chosen by fate to fight it."  
  
"Harry," breathed Colin.  
  
"Perhaps," replied Dumbledore. "But until they have been Chosen to fight the Dark, they are as helpless as the rest of us. Even so, I feel that Harry himself may have a better idea of where we are than anyone else. His scar is so fundamentally linked with Voldemort that it is impossible for him to ignore or misinterpret something critical that Voldemort himself undertakes. His murder attempt on me, for example. From what we have seen in the past, I am sure Harry's scar will be telling him in no uncertain terms that there is something afoot. One way or another, Colin, they will come for us."  
  
==========  
  
The stairs to the first floor in the Shrieking Shack squeaked under Ron and Hermione's weight.  
  
"D'you think they're here? It's well quiet. Why would they come all the way out here anyway?"  
  
"I have some idea," smiled Hermione. One of the things she really loved about Ron was his absolute child-like innocence when it came to certain things. They crept along the landing and glanced into the larger of the two bedrooms.  
  
"Awww, look at them," swooned Hermione as she and Ron stood at the door. I was now spooning with Harry, fast asleep with my left arm draped over his chest, facing the door. Thankfully, we'd pulled the quilt over us enough to protect the majority of our modesty.  
  
"That's disgusting," coughed Ron.  
  
"Ron! I happen to think it's beautiful,"  
  
"Beautiful? It looks like Liam's had his thing up Harry's..."  
  
"What Harry and Liam decide to do with their own bodies is absolutely nobody's business but their own. They're obviously very much in love with one another," she chided.  
  
"I still think it's sick."  
  
"Ronald Weasley!" she hissed viciously, trying to convey anger without volume. "I'd have thought you'd have been happy for your best friend. I know you've been trying to hook him up with Cho Chang -" Ron looked quite shocked that she knew this, but she continued and ignored him "- and so now you can see why your little matchmaking game didn't work."  
  
"I s'pose so," Ron admitted reluctantly.  
  
"What's wrong with two people sharing their love for one another? I mean how would you feel if Harry and Liam saw us together and thought that was disgusting?"  
  
"But we've never..."  
  
"There's another bedroom here," she smiled shyly, taking Ron's hand.  
  
"But we can't... umm... I mean I've never... uh..."  
  
She smiled gently at Ron. "Neither have I."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"C'mon, it'll be fun."  
  
Seeing as Ron still wasn't sure about the whole prospect, she took a step forward and kissed him hard on the lips. Half way through the kiss, she decided to take a further initiative and squeezed Ron's bulge through his trousers. His eyes shot open with surprise, but it had the effect Hermione intended.  
  
"OK."  
  
"You don't have to if you don't want to, and I won't think any less of you," she added, realising that she was almost bullying Ron into something he might not be totally comfortable with.  
  
"No 'Mione, I really, really want to," he grinned, and led her into the adjoining bedroom.  
  
==========  
  
I woke to find myself hugging Harry to me tightly. I was astonished at how relaxed sleeping with someone made you feel: Just the feeling of his heart thumping away rhythmically in his chest was enough to lull me back towards sleep.  
  
And fall asleep I would have, had it not been for the altogether less subtle, arrhythmic-enough-to-be-annoying thumping on the wall from the room next door.  
  
"Harry," I whispered into my love's ear. "Harry, wake up."  
  
"Mmm," he smiled, snuggling against me.  
  
"I think we've got visitors."  
  
He turned his head towards me. "Who?"  
  
"I dunno, but they seem to be enjoying themselves..."  
  
We paused to listen for a moment. The thumping on the wall was starting to be punctuated by the odd grunt or moan.  
  
"They obviously called this the Shrieking Shack for a reason, eh?"  
  
"It would appear so," he smiled, waking up more.  
  
"So who d'you reckon it is?"  
  
"The only other people that know this place isn't haunted and how to get to it are Ron and..."  
  
"Hermione!" came the muffled, slightly strained voice of Ron from the other side of the wall.  
  
Harry and I looked at each other before bursting out into stifled giggles.  
  
"Bloody hell, she's really giving Ron a seeing to, isn't she?"  
  
"'No, no, NO Ronald - you're doing it all wrong,'" I impersonated in falsetto. Harry nearly creased himself.  
  
"Shall we go and see?"  
  
"Nah - they were good enough to leave us alone."  
  
"You think they saw us?"  
  
I pointed at the open door. "Can't really see how they could have missed us to be honest."  
  
"Oh man - I wonder what Ron'll think of this..."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well, I'm his best friend..."  
  
"So?"  
  
"He's the jealous type, Liam... He'll get over it, but it'll take him a little time."  
  
"I think he's got his hands full at the moment, though," I smiled. The thumping on the wall had now turned into a more rapid banging, and gasps from a voice of a higher register were now interspersed with Ron's baritone.  
  
We lay side by side, listening to Ron and Hermione's sounds that were rapidly reaching their crescendo. With a few final, defined thrusts (and correlating bangs on the wall), both voices were heard to scream out in pleasure and then fall silent.  
  
"Should we?" asked Harry, mischief written all over his face.  
  
"It'd be rude not to," I grinned back.  
  
Harry inserted two fingers into his mouth and let out a seriously loud whistle before we both broke into a round of applause.  
  
"You're both bastards!" came Ron's voice from the other side of the wall after our ovation died down.  
  
"So to what do we owe the pleasure of this little visitation?" asked Harry, still smiling.  
  
"Uh, we thought you might have come here to get a little peace and quiet. We didn't want you to be late if you'd fallen asleep." said Hermione.  
  
"Nice alarm clock, I must say," I replied. "Very rhythmic."  
  
"You're really going about the right way to get your arse well and truly kicked, Liam," chuckled Ron.  
  
"Listen, mate - I'm in awe - that was some performance!"  
  
An embarrassed silence was presented as the reply, so I decided to keep the conversation going by making light of things: "So, now we've all satisfied various urges and desires, are we still up for breaking into Dumbledore's office, or are we a little too tired?"  
  
"I say we do it," replied Hermione. "Ron seemed to be doing all the hard work anyway."  
  
Harry and I looked at each other, more in shock than anything, before laughing once again.  
  
"I'm not a total prude," she added. "Besides, I think I've certainly got the bigger deal, if you know what I mean,"  
  
"Hermione! Shhh!"  
  
"Don't be embarrassed, Ron - it's not as if I've never seen you with a stiffy in the mornings," replied Harry. "He's quite... um... thick," explained Harry in a lower tone of voice."  
  
"Are you two decent?" asked Hermione. "We're coming through."  
  
I conjured us up a clean pair of boxers each and took pleasure in aiding Harry in putting them on; checking, of course, that his love tackle was 'well seated' in the front with a gentle squeeze. Harry insisted on giving me the same treatment before calling Ron and Hermione through.  
  
"Fuck me, it stinks in here," sniffed Ron as he walked through in boxers and a T-shirt.  
  
"Is that an offer?" enquired Harry playfully.  
  
"Huh? Oh, uh..."  
  
"I think he means 'No, but thank you anyway'," smiled Hermione, following him in and using her cloak as a dressing gown.  
  
"I do take your point, though," I said, and willed the scent of our love making to vanish.  
  
"So - Dumbledore's office. Do we know the password?"  
  
"Well, it was Humbug, but I think it changes every half day."  
  
"Have they ever not been muggle sweets?"  
  
"I don't think so," said Ron.  
  
"Well, if needs be, we can always go through the entire back catalogue of Muggle confectionery until we get the right one..."  
  
==========  
  
As Draco Malfoy fought his way to the Stantons' house, he desperately tried to make up some kind of excuse to be there. Every one he'd thought of so far had seemed extremely poor, so he decided to tell the truth. Well, nearly the truth: He couldn't exactly say 'I want to stare into your son's eyes, Mr. Stanton,' so he decided he may as well say that Mrs. Pettigrew thought he looked bored and that he should go and see Will.  
  
Which was near enough the truth anyway. Yes, that'd work...  
  
It wasn't anywhere near his usual standard of invention but he was too nervous to chastise himself to any great extent.  
  
The wind had really picked up and he found himself having to lean into it in order to remain upright. As he finally stepped onto the Stanton's driveway, it was as if the wind had been magically switched off. Draco looked round, but could see no one on the road besides himself.  
  
A crow in one of the trees opposite cawed harshly at him before spreading its wings and taking flight. Finding or feeling nothing particularly out of place, Draco turned back to his original course. He was going to try and knock at the front door, but the snow had drifted so high he would have had to climb into the drift in order to get anywhere near the door itself.  
  
He decided to try the back door before tackling the snow drift and crunched his way round to the other side of the house. From inside, he could hear animated chatter interspersed with the odd laugh here and there.  
  
He knocked on the back door and, after a moment or two, it opened.  
  
"Goodness! Lord Malfoy! It truly IS an honour that you should choose to make time to visit our humble abode and grace us with your presence," smiled Jim.  
  
"I... er... Perhaps I should go..."  
  
Jim had managed to totally destroy Draco in a sentence. He felt so bad about how he'd treated Will and Jim earlier he could barely stand it.  
  
"I'm only kidding, Draco - come on in out of the cold," Jim smiled, standing aside to allow Draco entry.  
  
"I really am sorry, Jim. I've made a promise to myself I'm never going to act like that again." Draco offered his hand. It was received warmly, finding itself enclosed in the crushing grip of Jim's Navy-honed handshake.  
  
"Not a problem," chuckled the eldest Stanton son, slapping Draco on the back which caused him to take a step forward, such was the force. "All forgiven and forgotten. WILL! YOU'VE GOT A VISITOR!"  
  
"Who is it?" came Will's voice as he walked through from the other room, mince pie in hand. Will's face lit up as he saw Draco standing there looking rather intimidated by Jim. "Wow - you've really changed your look!"  
  
Draco was quietly elated. "Better?" he asked, smiling for the first time.  
  
"Much. The whole evil overlord thing didn't really suit you."  
  
This quite surprised Draco. "No? I thought it was quite fetching..."  
  
"Well, yeah, if you were in an old fifties horror movie. You kinda looked like Eddie Munster. In a cu.. uh... nice sort of way that is."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Never mind," Will smiled. "So why'd you come over?"  
  
"Bored. Mrs. Pettigrew suggested I might have more fun here," he said, smiling apologetically.  
  
"Well, all of my brothers are monopolising my Great Uncle at the moment, so I'm at a bit of a loose end myself."  
  
"Oh, sorry - I didn't realise you had guests... I can come back tomorrow if you want..."  
  
"No - don't worry about it. Gumerry will get round to talking to me eventually."  
  
"Gumerry? Funny name..."  
  
"It's a nick name, I guess. He's really Merriman Lyon - not even related to us, but he's known the family for so long we've always called him our uncle. Thing is, calling him 'Great Uncle Merry' all the time is a bit long, so we kinda shortened it to Gumerry."  
  
"Merriman Lyon?"  
  
"You know him?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I've heard or read the name somewhere before. At least I think I have."  
  
"I'm not totally surprised - he does loads of research all over the place for various universities. I suppose he's written books - maybe that's it."  
  
"Yeah, maybe."  
  
"You want a cup of tea? Mum's just made a pot."  
  
"That'd be lovely, thank you."  
  
As Will clattered round the kitchen retrieving a mug, milk and the sugar bowl, he kept stealing glances as Draco absent-mindedly meandered round the rather cramped little kitchen. "I do like your hair loads more now."  
  
Draco turned, more than a little surprised. "Thanks," he smiled.   
  
"Do you take sugar?"  
  
"Just the one, thanks,"  
  
Will added a teaspoon of sugar to Draco's cup and stirred it.  
  
"Any chance of a refill, young William?" asked the slightly gruff voice of Merriman as he stooped under the low doorway that led off into the hall.  
  
"Hi Gumerry - sure. This is Draco M..."  
  
"Malfoy," smiled Merriman, taking a seat at the kitchen table.  
  
"How did you..."  
  
"Does your father know you're here, Draco? With these people?"  
  
"No, he... How do you know that he wouldn't..."  
  
Merriman chuckled. "I have known of your family for a long time, Mr. Malfoy. It seems, however, that there is a black sheep amongst the Malfoy flock."  
  
Draco took a sip of his tea and sat down opposite Merriman. "You won't tell my father I'm here, will you?"  
  
"Of course not, Draco, of course not. It is fortuitous that you - you both, in fact - are here."  
  
"What's going on Uncle Merry?" asked Will, handing Merriman his cup as well as bringing one for himself to the table.  
  
Merriman waved his hand over the two of them. Will wasn't exactly sure what happened, except that an eerie silence had suddenly fallen over the house.  
  
"What happened?" snapped Draco, jumping to his feet. He'd automatically pulled his wand from under his jumper and pointed it rather shakily at Merriman. Will just looked on, bemused.  
  
"I've taken the liberty of catching us out of time," explained Merriman. "You can put your wand down, Draco - no harm will come to you here."  
  
"Wand?" asked Will, more confused now than anything. He looked round to see that the kettle that had been boiling away happily on the stove had apparently stopped. Looking a little further down, the fire in the grate of the old stove was now alight with a blue-white flame rather than its usual deep orange-red.  
  
Draco, looking rather uncertain, slowly took his seat once more.  
  
"What I'm going to tell you now may seem a little strange - more strange to you, Will, as Draco already has an idea as to what I'm about to say. Please, let me tell you all of it, and I will endeavour to answer questions when I have finished. The force that comprises all of the evil in this world - the Dark - is Rising."  
  
Merriman went on to explain to Draco and Will about the Dark, it's periodic rising against the light and the Six that would turn it back.  
  
"But I thought the Rising of the Dark was just a legend," said Draco after Merriman had finished.  
  
"No no, young Draco," said Merriman. "It is a very real threat."  
  
"Gumerry, you said that it was lucky that Draco and I are here..."  
  
"You two are to be members of the Circle. Draco, if he hasn't already told you Will, is a wizard-in-training. He's proven to be very talented, but was being held back by the Malfoy name. Now that he has divorced himself from that, I believe we shall see very great things of him. You, Will, are the first of two special individuals to know that they are Circle members, although the others already suspect. You are the seventh son of a seventh son, Will."  
  
"But I thought you said you only had five brothers," said Draco.  
  
"At this moment, that is true. However, Will did have an older sibling - Peter - before James. Tragically, he died of pneumonia a couple of weeks after he was born, but he was the first son nonetheless. Jim was number two, Chris third, Luke and John fourth and fifth, Paul sixth..."  
  
"And me seventh..."  
  
"That's right, Will. You - seventh son of a seventh son - are legend. You are an exception in the magical world in that the type of Magic indigenous to you is very different to the type of magic with which most people would associate. You have a very close tie to the earth and can channel her through you. I'm afraid I can't say too much more about this now, however you will, in your own time, learn how to use and control it. Of that I am certain.  
  
"However, what I am not certain of is when the others shall arrive."  
  
"Who are the others, Gumerry?"  
  
"It is not right that I should tell you now, Will. You will know them when they make themselves known to you, however," said Merriman.  
  
"If you know of my Father..."  
  
"Then I also know that he has aligned himself with the Dark."  
  
"So why choose me?"  
  
"Because it has always been so. The circle has had a fixed contingent for centuries. It usually comprises of an acquaintance of the Dark, the seventh son of a seventh son, the academic, the brave, the smitten and the non-human."  
  
"Nuh... Non h-human?" stuttered Will.  
  
"As I said, you will know in time."  
  
"So how do you know you can trust me?" Draco was going to get a reasonably straight answer to this one way or another.  
  
"Because," replied Merriman, "of who you hold dear to you. He has a sphere of influence that transcends this material world and, if I am not mistaken, his strength of character has already had a beneficial effect on you."  
  
"Will," breathed Draco, suddenly looking at Will, realising what he'd said.  
  
Will returned his stare quizzically.  
  
Merriman waved his hand over them once again. Immediately the kettle resumed boiling and the fire returned to its ordinary orange-red glow. The sounds of the rest of the Stanton family filtering from down the corridor now seemed extremely loud to their ears after the eerie silence of non-time.   
  
"We're going a-carolling in a couple of evenings' time, Mr. Malfoy, if you'd care to join us."  
  
There was only one answer that he knew Merriman would accept, and so he said he would.  
  
"Excellent. Thanks for the tea, Will," he smiled. "Oh, before I forget, I have something to give you."  
  
Merriman dug around in his pocket and pulled out a curious-looking object - a metallic ring around three inches in diameter and quartered by a cross. He looked it over before handing it to Will.  
  
"It's a bit premature, but happy birthday," he smiled and ambled off back down the corridor to the rest of the Stanton family.  
  
"Did that really just happen?" asked Will, staring at the rather heavy thing Merriman had given him and more than a little confused.  
  
"If it didn't, we've just had a joint hallucination."  
  
"So is it true? I mean about your father and the Dark?"  
  
"I'm afraid it is," said Draco, taking another sip of his tea.  
  
"So... You're a wizard, then?"  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
"So THAT'S why you were wearing those mad clothes!"  
  
Draco nodded again.  
  
"Are you good at it?"  
  
"I'm only in my fifth year of school."  
  
"So they have, like, Wizard schools and stuff?"  
  
"Yeah," Draco smiled. "The one I go to is called Hogwarts. It's up in Scotland."  
  
"Cool! So you must know all about this whole Dark versus Light thing then?"  
  
"Only what my father has told me," admitted Draco. "But it was enough to scare me shitless."  
  
"Come up to my room where we won't be disturbed," grinned Will. "I want to hear all about this."  
  
==========  
  
"Shhh!"  
  
"That wasn't me!"  
  
"Stop treading on my heels!"  
  
"Sorry!"  
  
"SHHH!"  
  
Four people under an invisibility cloak would've been funny in nearly any other situation, but as it was we found ourselves desperately trying to both appear and sound invisible, the latter failing miserably.  
  
Thankfully, the Marauder's Map showed us that Filch and Mrs. Norris were in their office in the dungeons, Snape and McGonagall were in their respective quarters and Peeves was floating in the vicinity of the trophy cabinet.  
  
We rounded the corner and came within sight of the huge stone statue that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office.  
  
"OK - Here goes nothing," I said. "Humbug!"  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Mint Imperial!"  
  
Still nothing.  
  
"What would Dumbledore set the password to if he knew he was going away?"  
  
"I dunno - something that would be hard to guess I s'pose..."  
  
I thought for a moment before saying "Nougat!"  
  
Still the statue did not move.  
  
"This could take forever - we don't have the time!"  
  
I broke from the cover of the invisibility cloak and walked up to the statue. Carefully, I touched it, and immediately felt the password that had been set.  
  
"Gray's Traditional Herbal Tablets!"  
  
The huge statue did it's little bit of gymnastics and leaped aside, revealing the small antechamber that led to Dumbledore's office.  
  
With a final look round and a glance at the Marauder's Map to ensure we weren't being watched, Harry, Ron, Hermione and myself made our way into the Headmaster's study.  
  
"Remember, be as quiet as you can - we don't want to wake up the portraits," Hermione reminded us.  
  
Gingerly, we crept past the headmaster's desk and up the small flight of stairs to the bookshelves that contained hundreds of volumes pertaining to Hogwarts. Thankfully, Dumbledore saw fit to keep the records reasonably well organised and after a few minutes, we found four volumes titled 'Pupils: present'.  
  
As carefully as we could, Harry and I removed the 'K-N' volume from the shelf and laid it on the floor. Thinking back on it, it's amazing how loud the turning of a page can sound in the silence of night, but right then it made us all cringe many times until we found the entry for 'Malfoy, Draco'.  
  
Under the 'Family Details' section there was a fairly extensive list of various relations and an explicit order in which to attempt contact that had been stapled in. From what we could gather, it appeared to be from Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father.  
  
All of the addresses that were listed were no good, however, as none of them were in Surrey. Just as we were about to give up Ron, who'd been reading Lucius' note, drew our attention to the last paragraph.  
  
Whispering, he read it. "As a very last resort - and I must emphasise that this person is to be contacted only if all else well and truly fails - you may contact Mrs. Izabella Pettigrew, The Stables, Old Bakery Road, Surrey."  
  
"Pettigrew!" whispered Harry.  
  
"What? You know her?"  
  
"No, but I know someone with the same name - Peter 'Wormtail' Pettigrew. He was the secret keeper for the spell that concealed my parents' house at Goderic's Hollow. He was recruited by the dark and revealed their location to Lord Voldemort."  
  
"I think that confirms it, then," I whispered back. "Not only is her address in Surrey but one of her relations has strong ties to the Dark, as well as Malfoy's father. I think we've found our address." 


	14. Transit

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4 meta4meta4.org  
  
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:: Transit.  
  
We were on our way. Various duffel bags had been packed with assorted essentials (clothes, food, the odd Crup) and we were out of Hogwarts and flying south. All four of us were on brooms as neither Harry, Ron nor Hermione felt particularly at ease flying without something to hold on to and, whilst I didn't strictly need one, I could take their point about it feeling a little more reassuring.   
  
After a while, we pulled up through the immensely thick layer of snow-bearing clouds. In fact, under the crystal-sharp moonlight, clouds were all we could see. As we flew, I began to lose a feel for how far we were from the cloud layer as it looked fairly similar if you were ten feet above it or a thousand.  
  
The wind was icy cold but thankfully whoever had designed the cloaks obviously had broom-flight in mind, the huge toggles and heavy material ensured they stayed firmly fastened and kept the majority of the cold out. However, a couple of hours' flying can soon take its toll and so we decided to try and kill two birds with one stone and stop at my house.  
  
We dived through the cloud layer and back into the blizzard that was still in full force. As we flew over towns and villages, some of them now vaguely familiar to me, I noticed how the snow seemed to concentrate itself around them, ensuring the inherently warmer town centres got just as much snow settling as did the cooler, outlying countryside.  
  
The snow did a magnificent job of obfuscating landmarks and roads that I knew like the back of my own hand, which only served to underline to me just how efficient a weapon the Dark was deploying.  
  
Eventually (after a couple of detours) we found my house and landed with a soft 'crunch' into the thick carpet of snow.   
  
"Can you hold on for a moment? I need to check this out first," I said.  
  
"Do you want me to come with you?" asked Harry, looking extremely concerned.  
  
"No, thanks... I'll be fine for the moment. I'll call if I need you."  
  
There wasn't a single light on in the house, however my Dad's 7-series and my mum's X5 were parked in their respective garages. Treading carefully, I walked up to the back door which, as I approached, I could see was ajar.  
  
I went to touch the door handle but, remembering what Bob had said, I took a moment to examine it. Sure enough, its aura appeared slightly different to that of the surrounding door. I pulled the glove from my right hand and tentatively touched the handle. Someone I didn't know - yet who seemed familiar in a very tenuous way - had indeed touched the handle before me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the unfamiliar echo they had left.  
  
It was a man. He had arrived not long after I had left for Hogwarts and had waited in the back garden, watching the house intently. My parents had arrived home and, as usual, launched in to a full scale argument the moment they came face to face.  
  
The stranger stood and watched them through the kitchen window, just far enough away to remain out of sight. He watched and waited until they calmed down slightly. My father had opened the fridge and hence had his back to the door and my mother was sat down at the kitchen table, reading a magazine. It was then he chose to move.  
  
Quickly and calmly, the man strode over the lawn and burst through the back door. With neither a hesitation nor a second thought, the man executed my father. The scream my mother let out was cut short as she too had her life taken.  
  
Again with cool, calculating efficiency, their assailant dragged them together and issued a charm which caused their now lifeless bodies to lift into the air. As he pushed them from their resting place, he paused only to look into the mirror located by the back door.  
  
With sheer horror, I recognised the trademark sneer and the blond hair of a Malfoy.  
  
Shaking with emotion - both of sorrow for my parents and sheer, irrational hatred of Lucius Malfoy - I stumbled backwards and collapsed into the snowdrift by the back door.  
  
Harry bounded over and landed next to me in the snow, quickly pulling off his own gloves and holding my hand.  
  
"What happened?" he asked, concern written all over his furrowed face.  
  
"It was Mah..." I could barely get the words out. "Malfoy. He killed my... my..."  
  
"What? Draco?"  
  
"No... His Father."  
  
Harry gritted his teeth. "C'mon - let's get you out of the cold."  
  
He hauled me upright and held my shoulders to steady me and guided me into the house. Thankfully, although all the lights had been shut off the heating was still running. Harry sat me down and waved the other two in, explaining what I'd told him in a hushed voice.  
  
We decided to spend the night there, although I spent most of it sat on the sofa staring into thin air. Harry dutifully sat by me, periodically offering me a drink or something to eat before his own fatigue became the better of him. As he slept, head resting against my chest, I idly ran my fingers through his wild black hair and thought about what had happened.  
  
Malfoy senior - Draco's father - had killed my parents in cold blood. The more I thought about it, the more I hated Draco: His smug, self-important grin. The posturing. The cruelty. The seeds had already been sown in order that he take after his Father. He had to be stopped and, before my own tiredness got the better of me, I vowed that he would not be allowed to follow that path.  
  
==========  
  
"Anyway, I'd better get back to Mrs. Pettigrew's - it's getting late."  
  
"Can't you stay a bit longer?" Will asked raptly, having just been thrilled by Draco's tales of Hogwarts and the world of Wizards.  
  
"Do you think you could... um... 'Telephone' Mrs. Pettigrew? She said I should let her know if I was going to be very late."  
  
"Sure," smiled Will. He jumped off the bed on which he and Draco had been sat at opposing ends, took Draco by the hand (which surprised him, although pleasantly so) and dragged him off downstairs.  
  
"Do you have her number?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, yes, somewhere..." replied Draco as he dug through his pockets for the slip of paper Mrs. Pettigrew had handed him earlier.  
  
Will punched in the number and explained to Mrs. Pettigrew that Draco would be staying for the night before wishing her a very merry Christmas and hanging up.  
  
"So I'm staying the night now am I?"  
  
"I thought you might like to," smiled Will.  
  
"Being a bit presumptuous, aren't we?"  
  
"Probably, but it saves you having to make up your mind."  
  
Draco had to smile at Will. If only he knew some of the omitted details from his tales of Hogwarts...  
  
As they stood chatting in the kitchen, Jim meandered through from the lounge and started rifling through cupboards.  
  
"Jim, is it OK if Draco spends the night here?"  
  
"Yeah I don't see why not. Why are you asking m... You want my bed, don't you?"  
  
Will nodded, and Jim sighed. "I'll be on the other couch then,"  
  
"You don't need to, Jim, honestly," Draco jumped in, suddenly feeling very awkward.  
  
"It's fine, Draco - you two seem to get it on well together... I mean 'get on well together'," he smiled, and having found the pack of dates he was looking for, mooched back into the living room.  
  
"You're a dead man, James!" yelled Will after him to the sound of chuckles from down the corridor.  
  
"Shall we?"  
  
"Shall we what?" asked Draco, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Go back up stairs!"  
  
"Lead the way,"  
  
==========  
  
The next morning, I woke to find Harry shaking my leg gently. He smiled at me, eyes glistening behind his fringe, and offered me a cup of coffee. I took it gratefully and invited him to sit next to me.  
  
"I know this sounds rather pathetic, but how are you?"  
  
"I'm OK," I lied.  
  
"No you're not," he smiled. "You don't have to try and protect me all the time, you know."  
  
"I know," I sighed. "But you don't deserve any of this. I mean you've got enough on your plate without..."  
  
"A wise man once said that he felt he could take on the world if his friend was with him, and he would take on the world to get to his friend should he need to. What makes you think I feel any different?"  
  
I looked up from my coffee cup and into his eyes.  
  
"I love you," he said. "Your worries are mine as well, Liam."  
  
"I'm just not used to anyone paying me such attention," I sniffed. "I'm so used to dealing with everything on my own."  
  
"Well, that's going to change. Starting right now, your problems are just as much mine whether you want them to be or not. OK?"  
  
"OK."  
  
"Good. I really do love you, ya know."  
  
"I know. Thanks, Harry,"  
  
"No need to thank me - just kiss me," he smiled. I complied immediately.  
  
We hugged each other and then made our way to the kitchen where Ron was staring perplexedly at the toaster. A moment later, he jumped nearly a foot when the toast sprang up, then cautiously removed the slices and placed them in the toast rack on the table.  
  
Hermione was whistling round the kitchen in her usual, horribly organised fashion and had managed to whip up quite a respectable breakfast. Monty was trotting around after her, fielding any morsel of food that escaped and was doing a fine job of generally getting in the way.  
  
"Morning, Liam," she greeted cheerily.  
  
"Morning... What time is it?"  
  
"About half nine."  
  
"Half nine? Damn..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I didn't think I'd sleep that long..."  
  
"You were shattered - we all were after that flight." She put the tray she was carrying down on the counter top and removed her oven gloves. "Ron and I would like to offer our condolences. I don't really know what to say except that we're here for you should you need us."  
  
"Thanks, Hermione, that means a lot to me." I felt I owed Hermione and Ron a bit of an explanation, so I continued. "I don't know why I'm so upset about my parents being killed. I mean, they never really showed any real affection towards me and most of the time I was just an inconvenience to them..."  
  
"But they were your parents," chipped in Ron. "Just that is enough to upset you."  
  
"I s'pose..."  
  
"Well, anyway, tuck in lads," said Hermione. "There's plenty to go around."  
  
After we finished breakfast, Hermione had quite convincingly managed to prove that not only was she top of the year in her studies, she could also convincingly out-cook us as well!  
  
The meal and the company had lifted my spirits quite significantly, gradually easing me from the terminal anger I'd originally felt into something more rational and targeted. Somehow, I now felt I shared the same grim, determined look that Harry seemed to wear perpetually.  
  
I flicked on the TV on the kitchen counter. The picture was normally rather poor thanks to the useless little antenna perched on top of the set, but today it took more than the usual quantity of twisting and fiddling to get anything other than a load of static on the screen.  
  
The topic of conversation was very much centred around the weather with various reporters in different parts of the country looking suitably cold and miserable as they stood out in the snow. London and the surrounding counties appeared to be worst off with Birmingham and the rest of the midlands coming a close second. I turned up the volume.  
  
"...and despite the valiant efforts of local council workers, even the major road and rail links have been all but cut off, most motorways now being reduced to a single lane on the small stretches that are still open. The government has declared a state of national emergency, advising people to stay in their homes and conserve whatever food and water they have.  
  
"The National Grid has said that the extreme load created by the cold weather, combined with the damage the snow has caused to the grid infrastructure, is placing unprecedented load on the system and warn that electricity supplies may fail for extended periods of time.  
  
"Severn Trent water have also released a statement saying that the intense cold is starting to freeze reservoirs in the region as the cold begins to permeate the ground. Pumping stations in the more remote parts of the country have become inoperative due to power failures.  
  
"Transco, operators of the national gas network, have said that though demand is high, supplies remain stable although they do warn that this is dependent on power to the pumping stations remaining on. Once again, I repeat that the Government has declared a state of national emergency and advise people t..."  
  
Everything went quiet as the lights went out, flickered back on for a brief moment and then stayed off. We were now only illuminated by the cold, blue-white light streaming in through the kitchen window.  
  
"Bloody hell," said Ron. "This is really bad,"  
  
"Looks like the whole country'll freeze to death... I mean, what'll people do?" asked Harry.  
  
"I dunno," I replied. "I guess the army will be called in to distribute food and stuff, but there's no way they can cope with the whole country. People in the little villages are totally screwed."  
  
"What about Hogwarts?" asked Hermione.  
  
"They'll be fine. They've got enough food in the kitchens to feed the whole school for a couple of weeks. If they need any more I'm sure the staff can conjure up something between them." replied Ron.  
  
"So what do we do now?"  
  
"Well, I think the plan remains unchanged - we go and see Malfoy."  
  
"How are we going to get there? I don't really fancy another stupid broom trip..."  
  
"You know you told me about your Dad's flying Ford Anglia, Ron?"  
  
"Uh huh?"  
  
"Wanna try a flying BMW?"  
  
==========  
  
Will woke to find his room strangely dark and extremely cold. So cold, in fact, that the glass of water on his bedside table had started to freeze round the edges. He peeped over the edge of his bed to see Draco curled up on the mattress, shivering.  
  
"Draco?" he whispered.  
  
"Mmm?" he replied from between chattering teeth.  
  
"You'd better come up here with me. I think the heating's broken down again."  
  
"T... Thanks Will," he shivered, gathering up his bedclothes around himself has he stood up. Will lifted his quilt to allow Draco to climb in.  
  
"Bloody hell, Draco, you're frozen!" exclaimed Will as Draco's feet made contact with his shin. "C'mon, we need to try and get your circulation going again."  
  
Will took Draco's hands and arms and began to rub them vigorously gradually bringing them back to life. After Draco assured him he could definitely feel his fingers again, Will moved on to his legs, rubbing from his feet upwards. He felt Draco jump slightly as the back of his hand quite innocently made contact with Draco's crotch, but he didn't go out of his way to ensure it didn't happen again.  
  
"There, that ought to help," he smiled as he settled down next to Draco once more.  
  
"Yeah, that's great, Will," Draco replied in a rather husky voice. "Do you, uh... I don't quite know how to ask this... Do you mind if I hug you? To help keep warm I mean..." he added quickly.  
  
"Not at all," smiled Will.   
  
As Draco wrapped his arms around him, Will couldn't help but smile. He'd never slept with anyone before and to have Draco so close to him caused him to get more than a little excited. Without trying to be obvious about what he was doing, he tried to keep his crotch away from Draco's.  
  
In doing so, he felt sure he could feel Draco in a similar predicament to himself.  
  
"I know this is an awful cliché, but is that a wand in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"  
  
"Well, it's actually my wand," said Draco, pulling it out from under the covers. If there had been any more ambient light, Draco would've been able to see Will blushing intensely. Draco had guessed what must've happened to Will as it was taking all of his will power to prevent the same happening to him.  
  
Going for broke, he decided that the best way to break the tension would be to level the playing field and let the intimacy of their situation take effect. He felt his dick grow rapidly in his boxers, soon tenting them out in a similar fashion to Will's. He then hugged Will tighter to him and pressed his crotch forward, guaranteeing contact. Will gasped at this unanticipated move and soon found himself hugging Draco back.  
  
"Are you OK with this?" whispered Draco into Will's ear, causing his spine to tingle.  
  
"Oh yeah," breathed Will in reply, shuffling himself around slightly and a very poorly masked attempt to briefly hump himself against Draco. Feeling Will's hardness press into his own, Draco automatically did the same back. Before either of them realised what they'd initiated, they soon found themselves pressing and rubbing quite unreservedly against one another.  
  
Draco let one of the arms that was wrapped around Will's back to move further down his new friend's body, gradually sliding them under the elastic of his boxers. Draco found the feeling of the muscles in Will's arse tensing and relaxing as they humped up against each other incredibly erotic and began pawing and squeezing his buttocks with each thrust.  
  
"Draco, I think we'd better stop..."  
  
"W... Why?"  
  
"I'm... ah... I'm gonna cum soon," Will panted.  
  
Before Will could even consider calling a halt, Draco rolled him over onto his back and began thrusting even harder against him. With gravity now playing its part, Draco found each thrust brought with it even more pleasure than their previous side-by-side arrangement. It also had the advantage that Draco was now very much in the driving seat and, not one to give up, he sure as hell was going to see this through to completion.  
  
Will realised what Draco intended and after little more than a token objection, spread his legs wider and wrapped them around Draco as he pumped on. He could feel the little precum that he produced beginning to do its job by dampening his boxers, allowing them to slide most pleasurably over his dickhead.  
  
Both boys could feel their respective orgasms building quite rapidly causing them both to increase the force and frequency of their actions. Draco's scent was sending Will almost insane with desire, causing him to buck up against Draco's downwards thrusts.  
  
Will suddenly realised that no matter what he did, he was going to cum. Very soon. And hard, too. In that indescribable moment that immediately precedes a really good orgasm, Will surrendered himself completely to the feelings Draco was providing him. Just the weight of Draco's body on top of his provided a feeling unlike any other he'd ever experienced.  
  
Will came, his erection sending spurt after spurt of his cum into his boxers. His orgasm was more powerful and seemed to last longer than any he'd ever experienced until then. With each spasm of his body he felt as if he were about to pass out with the acute pleasure radiating from his groin.  
  
Feeling the hot dampness that was rapidly soaking through his own boxer shorts, Draco was totally powerless to stop his own orgasm. Within moments his own cum was mixing with Will's, forming an extremely pleasurable slimy, sticky mass through which their dicks slid easily. With a couple of final pronounced thrusts, Draco let the last of his weight fall onto Will. As he did so, he planted his lips on Will's kissing him for the first time.  
  
Both boys now sufficiently warm to their very cores, they soon drifted off into a gentle, comfy sleep.  
  
On Will's bedside table, the Sign Merriman had given him glowed slightly, the heat it produced singing the shape of a circle quartered by a cross onto the wooden surface while re-melting the glass of water.  
  
==========  
  
The incessant snow had ensured that we could no longer get out of any of the doors in the house, so we ended up climbing out of the kitchen window. I'd managed to pull a few bits and pieces together from around the place and loaded our bags, broomsticks and Monty into the X5. Ron and Hermione climbed into the back while Harry joined me up front.  
  
"So how are we getting to Draco's house then? I mean I'm sure we can get to Surrey easily enough, but how do we find the house he's staying at?"  
  
"I'd like to introduce you to a bit of muggle technology, Ron," I replied as I willed the 4x4 into the air, allowing it to clear the mountain of snow that had fallen behind it, otherwise locking it into the car port. "This is a GPS system - it'll tell us exactly where to go."  
  
Ron watched, amazed, as I entered the address of Draco's relative into the car and it calculated the quickest route there. Obviously it wouldn't be particularly useful once we were in the air, but it would be invaluable when we reached the now rather nondescript outlying country lanes around Surrey.  
  
"Oh wow - Dad'd love to see this!"  
  
"What does your dad do, exactly?"  
  
"He works at the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. Muggles really fascinate him."  
  
"When I first met him, he wanted to know the 'exact function of a rubber duck'," chuckled Harry.  
  
It had to be said that travelling by flying BMW was indeed far more comfortable than on brooms. As we cleared the cloud layer once again, I turned on the radio. It appeared that BBC Radio 4 had been turned into a public information channel, giving advice and news reports on the snow. Parts of London were now without power and the armed forces were now being mobilised to provide food drops for isolated villages that were now totally cut off.  
  
According to the GPS, we were travelling at around two hundred miles an hour over the cloud layer, and hence reached London quicker than I'd expected. I slowed down as we approached central London and dipped us back down through the clouds, which seemed especially thick and dark here.  
  
Beneath us, the densely packed streets that were usually heaving with people were nearly deserted. The office buildings and monuments that were usually brightly lit stood desolate, all covered with a thick layer of snow beneath the extremely murky sky.  
  
We ended up over Mayfair and then St James' Park; soon I spotted Buckingham Palace, pointing it out to everyone else. The gardens to the rear of the palace were almost indistinguishable, all of their majesty and grandeur masked by the snow. I made a couple of passes before carrying on west towards Westminster Abbey.  
  
"This is awful," whispered Hermione as we looked down on the streets of the nation's capital.  
  
As the great twin spires of the abbey loomed ahead of us, almost none of its intricate architecture and decoration could be made out, instead presenting itself as a huge, glistening monolith of ice.  
  
A moment later, the Houses of Parliament came into view. Although seemingly intact, there was no illumination of any kind, however the roads to the buildings had been kept clear by what looked like an army of military-green snow ploughs.  
  
We flew over Parliament Square and turned left, following the Thames. To our right emerged the huge London Eye, motionless with its bottom section buried in snow and devoid of light.  
  
As we flew on we saw that St. Paul's hadn't got off lightly, either: The huge trademark dome had been badly damaged, presumably having collapsed under the snow's weight. The once grand dome was now totally devoid of the crucifix that adorned its pinnacle, now instead having nothing but a jagged, dark hole.  
  
As we reached an iced-over tower bridge, we turned south again and resumed our course for Surrey. 


	15. The Circle

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4   
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE::  
Firstly, may I say "thank you" for the wonderful amount of support received about this story. I know it's taking its time getting to you: unfortunately life is more than a little hectic at the moment. I'm afraid I'd rather spend the extra time making the story good than rush it out full of errors (and potential "gotchas" for later plot elements).   
  
I hope you can understand the reasoning behind this method of working: Rest assured that the chapters WILL keep coming, albeit a little slower than any of us may like.  
  
Once again, thanks for your continued support - it really does make writing this all worthwhile! It doesn't matter what you say - good or bad - we'd like to hear it!  
  
All the best,  
MeTA4.  
  
CHAPTER FIFTEEN:: The Circle.  
  
Draco stopped for a moment to rest on the handle of his shovel. He wasn't particularly used to manual labour and as a consequence the act of shifting a couple of tons of snow was quite a shock to the system.  
  
Will, having been shovelling diligently by his side for the past hour or so, stopped also and wiped his forehead with a gloved hand.  
  
"Thanks for helping, Draco. You really didn't have to."  
  
"S'OK," he replied with his recently discovered sincere smile. "It certainly makes a change."  
  
"Hang on - with you being a wizard and stuff, can't you make this snow just vanish?"  
  
"Well, I'm not supposed to do magic without supervision yet," said Draco, but on seeing Will's disappointment, added "But I don't think it'll hurt just once."  
  
He pulled his wand from inside the jacket that Jim had lent to him (which was more like a tent than a coat in comparison to his slender frame) and gathered his thoughts for a moment.  
  
With a cursory glance round to ensure they weren't being watched, he directed his wand at the particularly large drift they'd been attacking for the past twenty minutes.  
  
"Precipitens iactum!" he shouted and, in a flurry of snowflakes, the drift was blown clean over the hedge, almost totally clearing the driveway.  
  
"Wow!" yelped Will, literally jumping up and down with excitement. "That was brilliant, Draco! That's just so cool! C'mon, do it again!"  
  
Will watched, amazed and enthralled as with each utterance of the charm, vast quantities of snow were hurled through the air.  
  
"Can I have a go?" he asked as Draco managed to clear nearly all of the driveway.  
  
"I suppose, but I'm not sure much'll happen."  
  
"Cool! So what do I do?"  
  
"Take my wand - gently - and just give it a wave for a moment."  
  
Will did so and felt an almost indescribable tingle over his skin, which in turn caused him to shiver. Draco smiled.  
  
"Well, it looks like you're not going to blow anything up straight away at least."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"How best to put this... If the wand you try to use doesn't match you, it can misbehave..."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Right - point it at that snow drift... Good... And say 'Precipitens iactum'."  
  
"Pripitens yack-tun!"   
  
Not a lot happened.  
  
"It's pre-sip-ee-tens ee-yack-tum," explained Draco phonetically. "And remember to think about moving the snow drift. Let the wand know what you want to do."  
  
Will visualised the snowdrift being blasted into the field over the hedge and, very carefully, said the spell once more.  
  
"Precipitens iactum!"  
  
With the same soft 'wumph' that had accompanied Draco's castings, Will watched in disbelief as the final snow drift was blown on to the far side of the hedge.  
  
"Brilliant!" smiled Draco. He moved closer to Will and gently took his wand back. "Not bad for a muggle," he half-whispered.  
  
Stood so close, both boys began to complete the move both of them wanted to make. Just before their lips met, however, there was a huge rush of wind as something rather large flew over them, clearing their heads by little more than a couple of feet. The pressure of the air was so great it threw them both to the ground.  
  
"What the hell was that?" asked Will, helping Draco up and dusting the powdery snow from his jacket.  
  
"Goodness knows."  
  
As they stood, they saw what looked like a large car turn rather elegantly and land as if it had no weight whatsoever on the snowy surface of the road.  
  
"Draco, umm... That car was flying, right?"  
  
"Yes. Yes it was."  
  
"Have you ever seen anything like that before?"  
  
"Only heard of it - one boy in my class once flew his father's car to school."  
  
"Oh, right..."  
  
Draco watched, intrigued, as the vehicle moved silently down the road and turned into the Stanton's driveway, only sinking into the snow once it had come to a stop.  
  
As I opened the driver's door, the look on Draco's face was a picture. Suddenly seeing the Malfoy family resemblance all too clearly in Draco's face, I strode towards him and without thinking twice, landed a rather mean punch to his jaw.  
  
Before I could do anything else, I too found myself face down in the snow next to Malfoy having just received a shovel to the back. Groaning, I picked myself up to see Harry hovering the kid that had hit me with the shovel a good three feet in the air, hence incapacitating him.  
  
"Well well well," chuckled a deep voice from the front door of the house. "It would appear that the Circle is complete."  
  
==========  
  
A few minutes later, we were all sat round the Stanton's kitchen table with the hook-nose bloke at the head. I was glaring at Draco who was sat staring into his lap, nursing his jaw. I could, however, feel the eyes of the shovel-wielding kid burning down on me as Harry in turn scowled at him.  
  
"I look at you, Malfoy, and I see your Father," I said. Draco continued to hang his head. "Look me in the fucking eyes you little bastard!"  
  
Draco looked up, his grey eyes distinctly lacking the malicious sparkle they usually possessed.  
  
"Your Father killed my parents in cold fucking blood."  
  
Draco's lips that had up until now been pursed quite tightly together parted a little.  
  
"He... He did what?" asked shovel-boy, suddenly relaxing his glare.  
  
"Oh, didn't he tell you? Your friend's Father murdered my Father and then my Mother without even breaking a sweat."  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"I..."  
  
Malfoy, for once in his cocky, pretentious little life seemed at a loss for words.  
  
"You see," I continued, "he watched my Mum and Dad through the kitchen window from the back door. When he saw that they weren't paying attention, he just walked in and lynched my dad. Despite my Mum's screaming - and there was a lot of it - he then went and killed her."  
  
Malfoy was shaking now.  
  
"I... I didn't know..."  
  
"What, that your Father was a murderer? I don't believe you. I'm told that you're always bragging about his involvement with the dark at Hogwarts."  
  
"I didn't really believe it, though," whispered Draco. "Not to that extent anyway..."  
  
"So why the fuck did you say it?"  
  
"I... I was just showing off," he whispered again, his cheeks flexing slightly as he desperately tried to fend off the tears.  
  
I stood up with such force my chair flew backwards into the sideboard with a clatter. Marching round the table, I pulled the side of Malfoy's chair out so that he was facing me. I grabbed his head and twisted it upwards so he was looking directly at me.  
  
"See what he did for yourself," I said, and began forcing the images that I'd sensed from the back door handle at my home into his mind.  
  
As Draco saw them I could feel him becoming more and more agitated, his mind beginning to try and fight against what I was showing him. My will was infinitely stronger than his, however, and hence he could not 'look' away.  
  
As he saw the panic my Mother was in, he physically tensed before crying out as she was killed. Finally, the reflection of his Father in the mirror by the back door caused him to moan with distress. I held that image in his mind for a moment longer before releasing him. He slumped as if unconscious against the table, his body shaking with sobs of shock, sorrow and remorse.  
  
And they were genuine sobs: The tidal wave of emotion I could feel building within him before I let go had told me that.  
  
I took a step back and swallowed, re-evaluating the situation. This really wasn't the Draco Malfoy I'd met at Hogwarts and I suddenly became very aware that the analogy involving china shops and bulls didn't quite do justice to my actions.  
  
The hook-nosed bloke sat at the end of the table was studying me intently and, when our eyes met, he smiled very slightly and nodded a gentle nod.   
  
Carefully and quietly - and feeling rather embarrassed at my outburst - I retrieved my chair from under the sideboard and sat back down. Once I had done so, the man spoke.  
  
"Draco, I believe Liam is sorry for what he has just done to you. What your Father did was a terrible, terrible thing, however there are powers at work here that are greater than any of you can yet understand. Undoubtedly the Forces of the Dark will come to exert pressure on each and every one of us in the not-too-distant future and as such we must be as ready as we can in order to account for and cope with this.  
  
"Draco, Liam, I am afraid that I have just used you both as an example to illustrate my point, although Liam here is a lot more perceptive than even he himself would like to admit. He has seen that he has made a mistake in chastising Draco to such an extent."  
  
The bloke turned to me. "But given the facts you had to hand, Liam, I think we would all agree that from what you knew of Draco and from what his Father had done, your actions were justified. However," he continued, turning to Draco. "You were not aware that the lives of Draco and both of his parents were - and still are - under threat from Voldemort. It was due to his love of his wife and son that he performed that act, and I am hoping that Liam" - he turned back to me - "will find it in his heart to forgive Lucius."  
  
We were all, without exception, now looking rather shell-shocked.  
  
"Umm, excuse me," asked Hermione after a rather long silence, "but who exactly are you?"  
  
The hooked-nose bloke smiled a very wry smile. "It depends when and where you meet me, Miss Granger. Presently I am known as 'Professor Merriman Lyon', which is a corruption of my true name, but in this time I am also known as Robernonoch Leh-Nahtu-ne."  
  
As he said this, I watched in astonishment as Merriman's angular, weathered features transformed into the rounded, youthful ones of my mentor.  
  
"Bob?" I asked incredulously.  
  
"One in the same, kiddo," he grinned, before transforming back into Merriman.  
  
"Gumerry?"  
  
"Don't worry, Will," smiled Merriman benevolently. "I am still the same person I always have been. You simply know a little more about me now."  
  
"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Ron. "I knew that it could be done, but I've never actually seen anyone change from one form to another before..."  
  
"That exclamation has always amused me - I haven't had a beard in hundreds of years," chuckled Merriman. "But I suppose the legends will haunt one forever."  
  
"Hold on - you're saying that you're Merlin?" asked Harry.  
  
Merriman smiled wryly again. "I said that Merriman Lyon was a corruption of my true name. Much like Liam's has changed over the years, mine gradually faded from people's minds after the death of our first True king, King Arthur. It first became Merl'n, then Merlion, then Merlyon, Merilyon and finally Merriman Lyon - the person who you know today."  
  
"I'm sorry to sound skeptical," chirped Hermione, "but how do we know for sure?"  
  
"Do you trust Mr. Blackdon here?"  
  
Everyone except for Draco and Will nodded.  
  
"Then might I suggest that he see for himself."  
  
Merriman held out a hand to me. Gazing at it, I could see his aura initially looked very similar to any normal person's until I looked harder. Where everyone else seemed to have a very soft, flowing edge to theirs, Merriman's was far more intricate, leaping in and out in complex patterns that seemed never to repeat themselves.  
  
Tentatively I took his hand. Immediately I knew there was truth behind everything he said - an inherent goodness that overcame any and all doubts of which I could have conceived, almost dispelling them before they manifested themselves.  
  
"My God," I whispered. "He's telling the truth!"  
  
"Umm, M... Merlin, sir," stuttered Ron. "I'm really sorry about the whole beard thing..."  
  
"I'm sure there was no offence intended and there was certainly none taken," he smiled. "But for the moment I think you should still call me Merriman. It has taken a long time for the name 'Merlin' to divorce itself from me. Only to those to which it is imperative is the truth known.  
  
"Knowing a name immediately puts you on speaking terms with someone - or something. If they can address you directly, it is but our nature to listen to what they have to say. If you can address them, the same is also true. Unfortunately, all of your names - with the exception my own and Will's - are known to the Dark. It is an advantage that we have not had in Risings past."  
  
"We?"  
  
"As I'm sure at least some of you suspected already, this group represents the Circle of the Light, first inaugurated in its present form by King Arthur himself. The Circle was given the task of driving back the forces of the Dark, allowing society to have overwhelming influence from the Light." Merlin chuckled again slightly. "The Dark Ages were so called for good reason, yet as with many things the truth behind the name has become lost over time."  
  
Merriman stood at the head of the table, holding his arms out to his sides.  
  
"I, Merlin, Sage of our United Kingdom, do state that you, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, Liam Blackdon, William Stanton and Draco Malfoy, are hereby inducted to the Circle of the Light as blessed by our passed Lord, King Arthur of Camelot and of Britain. Henceforth you all shall do anything and everything within your collective means to defeat the imminent Rise of the Dark. May the Spirit of our passed Lord look over you and guide you wisely."  
  
As Merriman said this, the gravity of my situation suddenly became very apparent. If he'd cast some sort of spell or if it was simply the realisation of what we were up against only now sinking through my thick skull I wasn't sure. What I was sure of, however, was that my beef with the Malfoy's suddenly seemed very, very petty indeed.  
  
I rose from the table and looked at Draco.  
  
"I'm not very practised at saying 'sorry', so I'll try and keep to the point. Draco, it will take a while for me to forgive your Father for what he did. However, it was wrong of me to let my anger out on you."  
  
I swallowed. I'm shit at speeches.  
  
"I just want to say that if we're gonna be working together with this, I suppose we need to know that there's no animosity between us."  
  
I extended my hand.  
  
Draco looked at me for a moment before a very broad smile escaped onto his face. The smile really shocked me as the only time I'd seen anything similar on his face before was driven by malice. This was altogether much more appealing and really suited his new appearance.  
  
He took my hand and shook it firmly.  
  
"Don't think I'm going to apologise for squashing your fingers, though,"  
  
"I suppose I deserved that. I'm sorry, Hermione. I think I was just jealous."  
  
"Jealous?" asked Hermione, looking rather shell shocked.  
  
"Well, I mean you are the best student in our year. My Father would never forgive me for that."  
  
"Oh... Uh, thank you," she smiled, suddenly seeing a rather charming, vulnerable side of Malfoy that she'd never even thought existed, never mind seen.  
  
"Good," said Merriman, now leaning against the kitchen sink. "The healing between you will take a little time, of which we don't really have a lot. However, it is imperative that it runs its course before you engage the Dark head on."  
  
"Um, sorry... 'You'? When you say 'you', you mean 'us', and by 'us' you mean not 'you'? As in 'you will engage the Dark, but not me'? I mean when I say 'me' I mean 'you'," asked Ron, looking concerned.  
  
Everyone looked at him as if he was speaking Russian.  
  
"Would you like some paper and a pen, Ron? Perhaps you could draw us a Venn diagram or something," I offered.  
  
Hermione stepped in and clarified the situation: "I think Ron means that Merriman will not be... Umm... Fighting with us."  
  
"Yeah, that's it."  
  
"Not exactly, no," agreed Merriman. "As you will soon come to see, there is a little more to this Rising than initially meets the eye. We have been keeping watch on the Dark more intimately than they could ever know, and as such we presently have an advantage. To reveal myself to them at the outset may well waste that advantage before the battle has truly begun, so we must first distract them."  
  
"Not wanting to sound too pessimistic or anything, but how do we do that to an all encompassing Dark Force? Go and play 'Ding Dong Ditch' at Dark HQ or something? Don't get me wrong: I mean I'm actually quite good at Ding Dong Ditch, but I'm not too sure it'd work in this instance."  
  
"You might be surprised, Liam - that idea has more merit than you'd think. However, now is not the time to be thinking about this. How do you fancy some carol singing this evening?"  
  
==========  
  
The snow was falling more heavily than ever as the day passed. Merriman had split us up into three pairs - Hermione and Ron, me and Will, and Harry and Draco - and had us all traipsing around the scattering of houses that had the audacity to call themselves a village.  
  
The task of this errand was to invite the village to an evening of carols and merriment around the Christmas tree at Greythorn Manor seeing as the power had now failed and no doubt everyone would be feeling miserable.  
  
As Will and I waded through the snow in silence to our quarter of the 'village', we both decided to try and talk at the same time. After the standard "No, after YOU" argument, Will went first.  
  
"Sorry for hitting you with the shovel."  
  
"I'd have done exactly the same thing in your position, mate."  
  
"So... You and Harry are... err..."  
  
I nodded, smiling.  
  
"Oh. Cool," he smiled back, suddenly looking a lot more at ease.  
  
"Have you two... umm..."  
  
"Lots."  
  
"Lots?"  
  
"Oh yeah." I grinned. 'Not in quantity,' I had to admit to myself, 'but certainly in quality!'   
  
We walked for another few minutes in silence again, the only break being when I had to whistle to Monty to get him to stay in roughly the same direction as us. The poor little Crup was leaping through snow that was twice as deep as he was tall, but the frantic wagging of his tail showed that he was really enjoying himself.   
  
"Sorry," I said.  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Hitting your boyfriend. Nothing like making a good first impression, I always think."  
  
"I'd have done exactly the same thing in your position, mate," he said, doing a very bad impression of my Derbyshire accent. I had to laugh.  
  
"I think Draco's got a worse deal than me, somehow."  
  
"This may sound odd, but how do you mean? Your parents are... uh..."  
  
"I think 'dead' is the word you're after."  
  
Will nodded.  
  
"Hermione told me this one: 'Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself'."  
  
"I suppose she's right," conceded Will.  
  
"She's never really wrong," I chuckled. "I've never really had a problem with speaking my mind. Bit of an arse me, really."  
  
"Passionate, yeah, but not an arse. Just a little hot-tempered."  
  
I nodded.  
  
"So can you do the same kinda magic Draco can?"  
  
"Uh, not really... See, I'm an Elf."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You know - Elf. See? Pointy ears and everything," I said, pulling my hair back.  
  
"No shit?"  
  
"None whatsoever."  
  
"So that's what Gumerry meant..."  
  
"Gumerry?"  
  
"Sorry - Great Uncle Merry. He was telling Draco and me about the circle and said that it usually comprised of... Oh, what did he say? Yeah - that's it: 'an acquaintance of the Dark, the seventh son of a seventh son, the academic, the brave, the smitten and the non-human'."  
  
"The acquaintance of the Dark - that must be Draco - they know of him through his Father..." I gritted my teeth, but the surges of anger towards Malfoy Senior were gradually becoming more controllable. "The seventh son of a seventh son?"  
  
"Me," said Will.  
  
"The academic - that's got to be Hermione. The brave? Must be Ron or Harry. The smitten... That could be any of us I suppose, and the non-human would be me."  
  
After another moment of silent reflection, Will broke the silence.  
  
"So what can you do then? Magic-wise, I mean."  
  
"Well..." I looked around for a little inspiration, then realised that the snow that was well above my knees was all the inspiration I needed.  
  
With a thought a nice, shiny skidoo appeared a couple of feet in front of us.  
  
"Oh WOW! You did that?"  
  
"Unless there's something you're not telling me, yeah."  
  
"I've always wanted to have a go on one of these!"  
  
"No reason we can't have a little fun while we're at it, I suppose," I grinned.  
  
==========  
  
On the other side of the village, Harry was staring in a rather puzzled way at Draco as they trudged on through the snow.  
  
"What?" Asked the blond haired boy, sounding genuinely confused for the first time in Harry's memory.  
  
"I'm just trying to work out what happened."  
  
"How d'you mean?"  
  
"You becoming a decent person for starters."  
  
Draco's eyes snapped to Harry's. Harry smiled weakly, realising what he said, but the look of scorn soon melted away from Draco's face in a most un-Malfoy-like manner.  
  
"I don't know what happened exactly," admitted Draco. "I was sent down here by my Father and then I met Will. I was really nasty to him to start with - I thought he and his brother were servants."  
  
"You never! Really?" asked Harry, letting the formal quip-making facade he usually had to wear when in Malfoy's company drop.  
  
Draco nodded, looking rather embarrassed. "Even after that, Will offered to help me with my things. I dunno what it is about him, but... I don't know... I mean, it's like he can show me the best and the worst things in me without saying a word." Draco paused for a moment and then laughed at what he'd just said. "That makes absolutely no sense to you, does it?"  
  
"Actually, it makes perfect sense." smiled Harry. "Liam does the same in a way. I don't want to intrude, but I'm guessing you and Will are more than friends..."  
  
Draco blushed, but nodded in the affirmative.  
  
"I'm sure Liam didn't mean to deck you again. He just gets a bit... umm... emotional..."  
  
"I'm thankful that he let me live to be honest," sighed Draco. "I don't think I'd have had his control if our places had been reversed. Then again, that's what Will has changed about me, or rather showed me and allowed me to change myself. I suddenly realised I was becoming my Father and that really worried me."  
  
Draco snorted a more tempered version of his trademark derisory snort.  
  
"It'll be an interesting moment when I tell him I'm in love with another boy. A muggle boy, at that..."  
  
"Well, if it's any reassurance, you've got us all to turn to now, Ma..."  
  
Harry stopped himself.  
  
"Draco."  
  
"Good Lord, Potter, I didn't realise we were on first name terms!" he grinned. "Thank you, Harry - that really means a lot to me."  
  
"New Draco, new chance, I suppose," said Harry, returning his former arch-enemy's smile. "Besides, I like your hair..."  
  
==========  
  
I fished around in my pocket and pulled out the set of keys that had just appeared there and handed them to Will.  
  
He clambered on to the skidoo and fired up the engine, causing a bunch of Rooks to fly up from the surrounding trees as the snow-dampened silence was shattered. I sat Monty on the fuel tank between Will's arms and then climbed on the back.  
  
Will twisted the throttle and we took off down the lane at a much more respectable speed with a huge fountain of snow being thrown a good ten feet into the air behind us as the track of the skidoo threw the powder asunder.  
  
With each stop we found people coping to various degrees with the adverse conditions. The larger families appeared to be making the best of a bad situation, almost enjoying the forced hardship and rediscovering the lost art of conversation, the TV no longer being an option.  
  
On the other hand, we also found some people - especially the elderly - were having a far more difficult time of it. I willed the power back on in a couple of houses seeing as their residents were very obviously suffering, and also ended up handing out food that was being carried by the sled the skidoo was now pulling (it had miraculously appeared when we came across the first old lady desperately in need of something to eat).  
  
Very quickly, the task we'd initially classed as a chore turned into a joy as we made more and more people smile.  
  
"This is what magic should be used for!"  
  
"Oh god yeah!" grinned Will as we hurtled over the fields back towards Greythorn Manor.  
  
We'd been received very well by everyone and there was a promised turn-out of nearly a hundred percent, especially when we said we'd pick them up should they be in need of transportation.  
  
As I was commenting on this to Will, something caught my eye from the periphery of my vision. We'd just passed a small outcrop of trees and I could swear blind that something had darted into them for cover.  
  
"Stop here a second," I yelled over the engine. Will eased back on the throttle and we coasted to a stop a hundred feet or so past the trees.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I dunno," I replied truthfully. "I could have sworn I saw something in the woods."  
  
"Perhaps it was a dog or something..."  
  
"It must've been a bloody big dog! Spin us around and do a drive by, would you?"  
  
Will nodded and wrestled the Skidoo in a rather large arc to point roughly back in the direction we'd come from. The engine seemed to mirror my unease, not particularly liking the concept of partial throttle having been thrashed at top speed everywhere until now.  
  
As we rumbled back past the wood Monty, who'd stayed firmply planted on top of the fuel tank, let out a low growl and then leapt off the skidoo towards the wood, his speed seemingly unimpaired by the snow.  
  
As he reached the treeline, what could best be described as a rather wretched screech went up, accompanied by a black-hooded figure breaking cover from behind one of the trees and sprinting as best he could out into the open.  
  
"C'mon, Will, head 'im off!"  
  
Will gunned the motor once more and set a collision course, however Monty was already within gnashing range. Seconds later, the fleeing man was brought to the ground by a pair of immensely strong jaws locking round his left heel. With another screech, he fell into the snow, dropping something as he did so.  
  
As we approached, the man started to flail around, trying to dislodge Monty. The little crup was having none of it, though, and sunk his teeth a little deeper until they penetrated the boot and began to touch flesh, accompanied by a "you just try it, mate" type of growl.  
  
Will and I both dismounted and waded over to where the guy was lying. As we approached, a rook kaw'd loudly from the top of one of the trees.  
  
The man jerked his head round to look at the Rook. "Let me go!" he screeched once again, his vocal cords sounding like overstressed violin strings. Monty gave his heel a bit of a shake to remind him that wasn't going to happen any time soon.  
  
"Who are you?" I asked. The aura he was projecting appeared strange to me. Human, certainly, but unusual in a way I was having trouble defining.  
  
The man, whos face I could now see to be extremely gaunt and tired-looking, simply scowled. "Let me GO!" he yelled, accompanied by another flurry of struggling.  
  
"I've seen him before," whispered Will. "I could swear he was outside my house the day Gumerry arrived..."  
  
"Was that you?" I asked.  
  
The man sneered in a way that I found deeply unsettling.  
  
"This night will be bad," he said, "and tomorrow will be beyond imagining!"  
  
Will and I looked at each other but before we could say anything, we noticed the quantity of rooks that had assembled in the treetops. As if our noticing them had been the cue, they all took to the air in a whirlwind of flapping and crying, flying up in a rotating column that moved in a way that reminded me of a tornado.  
  
The man now became frantic, screaming and kicking at Monty to get free. I let out a short whistle to call Monty to me. He let go of the man's ankle and bounced over to my side. Immediately, the column of rooks dived towards our position, prompting myself, Will and Montie to take refuge behind the skidoo.   
  
We were not their target, however: As quick as a flash, they were on the strange man, pecking and scratching at him as he desperately tried to get up from the snow. Too shocked to really do anything to help, Will and I could but watch as he hobbled off down the field, the cloud of rooks following him.  
  
Once the noise had died down, I looked over at Will. "Did any of that strike you as being a bit odd?"  
  
Before Will could even answer, a bark from Montie caused be to turn around. A few feet from where the man had been lying, Monty was busy digging in the snow, tail wagging violently. A second later he stopped and plunged his head into the snow, re-emerging a moment later with something shiny in his mouth.  
  
"What you got, scruff?"  
  
I knelt down as he pranced over, looking immensely proud of himself. Gently, he dropped a shiny metal ring, quartered by a cross, into my hand. I turned it over, inspecting it. Judging by the weight and the texture, it looked as if it was made from bronze or brass or something similar.  
  
"What on earth is this? That guy must've dropped it when he fell..."  
  
"Hey!" exclaimed Will as he looked over my shoulder. "I've got something almost identical to that!"  
  
He rummaged around in his trouser pockets and pulled out another ring quartered by a cross.  
  
"Where'd you get that one?"  
  
"Merriman gave it to me a couple of days ago."  
  
I took it from him and laid it on top of the one Montie had just found. With the exception of the texture and colour, they were identical. Looking at them, I could see them both exuding an extremely strong aurora. So strong, in fact, that I could feel myself squinting from the intensity.  
  
"We need to talk to Merriman about these," I said, and jumped back onto the Skidoo. 


	16. Green Grow the Rushes

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK by Meta4   
  
CHAPTER SIXTEEN:: Green Grow the Rushes...  
  
As we turned into the gates of Greythorn Manor, it was as if you could feel the good will and cheer from the surrounding houses, and I couldn't help but smile spontaneously.  
  
Even the snow seemed to have eased off a little, the cloud now letting enough sun through to make the powdery snow that adorned the bare trees surrounding the manor glint with a virgin cleanliness that refreshed your very soul.  
  
As we approached the Manor itself, parked rather haphazardly in front of the huge Manor doors were a couple of sets of cross-country skis and a full dog sled team: Apparently the others had become rather fed up of trudging through the snow and had invented their own ways of speeding their progress.  
  
Will steered the skidoo in between the skis and the sled and switched off the engine. Even though my ears were still ringing, I was suddenly aware of something I hadn't heard - with the exception of the rooks - since the snow had started: Birdsong! Looking around, I saw a tiny little Robin perched on one of the bushes adjacent to the Manor doors.  
  
With a heavy clunk, the doors were opened and a rather stocky man strode out into the snow.  
  
"Master Liam and Master William?"  
  
I stopped in my tracks as I recognised the same not-quite-right aurora from this man as rook-boy had. Once again he was definitely human - no doubt about that - but there was something I couldn't quite put my finger on that appeared very out of place.  
  
Will nodded as we dismounted from the skidoo, Monty leaping off and diving into the bushes.  
  
"I am Hawkin, Lady Greythorn's butler. If you will accompany me inside, your colleagues are awaiting your arrival."  
  
I nodded and smiled cordially at the man, who was dressed in emerald green coat tails and a matching set of trousers. Somehow, he seemed immensely proud of what he was wearing - disproportionately so.  
  
I resolved to ask Merriman about it as soon as I could, but in the mean time Will and I followed the man Hawkin into Greythorn Manor after whistling for Monty, who came charging out of the undergrowth just as haphazardly as he'd entered.  
  
Inside, Greythorn Manor proved to be every bit as grand as the outside promised. Huge tapestries and ancient - presumably priceless - paintings adorned the walls.  
  
As the power was out here too, the enormous chandeliers had been re-employed in their original manner, each now housing at least thirty candles which cast a soft, orange glow over the building's interior.  
  
Hawkin led us through the entrance hall and up one of the flights of stairs that led to the first floor mezzanine. He knocked sharply on the central door and then entered.  
  
"Masters Liam and William," he announced, before ushering us in.  
  
We entered a rather large drawing room, again decorated with paintings and tapestries, although much lighter in colour than the others in the main hall.  
  
Congregated near the far end of the room was Merriman, stood with his back to the roaring open fire; Ron, Hermione, Harry and Draco sat on a pair of large, plush sofas; and in an adjacent armchair was a rather old but nonetheless lively lady, who I assumed to be Lady Greythorn.  
  
We walked down to the end of the room and Draco and I were greeted rather warmly by our respective partners. Although this show of emotion was slightly out of the ordinary for Harry, I was grateful for it nonetheless. None of the others seemed to mind the hug and the peck on the cheek, however Lady Greythorn smiled warmly and then nodded at Merriman.  
  
"Right then! Now that we're all here, let me introduce to you Lady Greythorn," he said, moving to her chair and offering her his hand. She took it and stood up carefully, taking a moment to get her balance.  
  
"My Lady," said Merriman, bowing his head in respect.  
  
This all struck me as rather odd. Quite why Merriman would be treating Lady Greythorn with such reverence I could not understand, but she had a very gentle, kind demeanour about her. I scolded myself for having the Miss Faversham stereotype stuck in my head and vowed to keep an open mind on the subject.  
  
Harry, too, had been visited by a stereotype, although his was of Sibyl Trelawney, his divination professor. He did have to concede, though, that the resemblance was only superficial as Lady Greythorn lacked the huge glasses and insect-like deportment; instead presenting herself with all the grace that seemed inherent to nobility.  
  
"Firstly," she said in a clear voice that belied her advanced years, "I would like to thank you all for coming. As I am sure Merriman has told you, you are the embodiment of the Light's desire to vanquish the dark. You have all been chosen due to your very unique talents. Unfortunately, the completion of the circle took place a lot later than we would have liked. It wasn't until Liam made himself known to Hogwarts that we were able to move ahead."  
  
"Uh, sorry,"  
  
"My dearest Liam," said Lady Greythorn, turning to me specifically. "Do not linger on the past as what is done is done; yet remember that it is the past that has defined your present. Likewise, do not place undue concern with the future, but remember that our actions now will define the people that we will become and the world in which we live.  
  
"Without you doing what you did and - though I may not agree totally with your conduct - behaving like you behaved," she smiled, "we may never have found you and our counter to the Dark would have been at a severe disadvantage.  
  
"And that doesn't just apply to Liam, either," she said, taking a step back towards Merriman again. "Each and every one of you has specific gifts, although the one that will prove itself essential is the camaraderie that you share. Admittedly, it was a little rocky to start with," she shot me a mischievous glance, "but Merriman assures me that you've all found the strength of mind to rise above your differences."  
  
I looked over at the opposing sofa to where Draco was sat. He truly wasn't the same person who'd sent Hermione flying through the air. Who was so proud of his bad-boy image. Who's fingers I'd crushed with the back of my chair. He was a good lad. And besides, Harry liked his hair, and if Harry felt he c...  
  
Harry and I suddenly looked at each other.  
  
"How did you know that I...?"  
  
"How did you know that I knew?"  
  
Lady Greythorn continued while smiling at us gently.  
  
"Your first act against the Dark was the forming of the circle. The second was providing news of the entertainment we're going to hold here tonight. As insignificant as it might seem, you must put yourselves in the position of one of the widowers of the village, alone and cold in her big house. To have a pair of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed boys come and knock at your door with the promise of food, warmth and a bit of a sing-song would raise your spirits immensely.  
  
"The snow is self perpetuating: The Dark draws its power from the despair and the very lack of hope it itself induces. The start of the snow is the most difficult for them: Trying to keep a steady snowfall while there are so many children playing in it and having fun is a devastating drain to them. However, as communications are disrupted and temperatures fall, so do the spirits of people. Add to this the depression of the short, grey days and the mourning of loved ones that have perished in the snow, their power is soon replenished.  
  
"We are, at the moment, in the calm before the storm, so to speak. The snow is now feeding itself and is generating enough excess despair to feed the Dark that created it. However we have managed to disrupt the cycle in this village. As I'm sure you've already noticed, it has already started to loose its grip here. Add to that the carolling this evening and we're sure to provoke more than a little interest from the Dark."  
  
"So we're bringing them to us?"  
  
"Absolutely. However, it is of paramount importance that you six do not show yourselves as anything other than children during this event. The Dark can take many forms and we may not know when one of them is amongst us."  
  
At that moment, there was a sharp knock at the door again and Hawkin entered, carrying a large silver tray full of tea things.  
  
"Marvellous - thank you, Hawkin."  
  
Hawkin smiled a deep, warm smile, nodded and left the room once more.  
  
I had to say something.  
  
"Lady Greythorn, I think there's something slightly odd about your butler."  
  
"Hawkin? What do you mean, Liam?"  
  
"There's just something about him that doesn't quite fit in. I can't quite put my finger on it, though..."  
  
Merriman smiled a wry smile.  
  
"I believe our young Elf has rumbled you, my Lady. Very perceptive, Liam."  
  
"Hawkin is of this place, but not of this time. Of the here, but not the now, if you will. He has been in my employ since he was a boy and was born on December the twenty-fifth, ten-eighty."  
  
I was starting to take this kind of information in my stride now, but even so it still sounded more than a little odd.  
  
"You can probably tell how proud he is of his clothes: Those kinds of garment are unknown in his time, and so he takes great pleasure in wearing them now. Hopefully, if we can be this observant this evening, we'll have nothing to worry about."  
  
"We saw a man out in the snow today, too," I added. "He dropped this."  
  
I held out the sign towards Merriman, who raised his eyebrows slightly.  
  
"Bronze carried long," he whispered. "The Walker is indeed abroad. I could not be sure before, but only he was entrusted with the Sign of Bronze."  
  
"So what are these signs exactly? They're certainly not just lumps of metal..."  
  
Merriman chuckled. "Indeed not... There are six Signs that make up the Circle, one for each member. While the Circle itself is complete, the signs provide... what is the best phrase to use... 'reinforcement' to that bond. Each sign is bourne by a member of the cirle, hence linking them.   
  
"There is an old folk rhyme that chronicles this and suffices as well as any other way to explain where the signs come from:  
  
"When the Dark comes rising, six shall turn it back: Three from the circle, three from the track; Wood, bronze, iron, water, fire, stone, Five shall return and one go alone.  
  
"Iron for the birthday, bronze carried long, Wood from the burning, stone out of song; Fire from the candle-ring, water from the thaw, Six signs the Circle and the Grail gone before..."  
  
"As ever, these folk tales should not be interpreted literally," added Merriman hastily, seeing the look of concern on all of our faces.   
  
"Iron for the birthday," said Will. "Uncle Merry - you gave me this as a birhtday present..."  
  
"Bronze carried long," I added. "How long had the Walker had this thing?"  
  
"Many hundreds of years," said Lady Greythorn. "It was his punishment for betraying the Light to the Dark. A Sign is a heavy burden to carry for one who is not prepared to do so, and neither is it a load that can be shed easily.  
  
"These signs are yours now Will, Liam," she said, smiling once more. "They may be with you for quite some time to come, so you would do well to make yourselves acquainted with them. How you do this is up to you and you alone - it is not something that any of us can help you with. The rest of you will find your signs in due course, when it is time to do so."  
  
"Now, back to tonight," continued Merriman, breaking the intense concentration we'd all developed on Lady Greythorn. "The Dark will, no doubt, try and infiltrate the gathering one way or another. Although it may seem antisocial, Lady Greythorn will not be inviting people into her home. To do so would seriously undermine some of the wards we shall put in place this afternoon. So - to start..."  
  
Merriman continued to explain to us how some aspects of Olde Magick worked. Somehow, it seemed to be a very delicate blend of all the disciplines that we were being taught at Hogwarts. However, where they were taught very much on their own at school, Olde Magick required the product of their attributes.  
  
An hour or so later, we were out collecting branches of holly from the copious bushes around the Manor. Professor Snape would have told us all about the chemical properties of the berries and sap, Madam Sprout the hardiness and waxy surface to the leaves and so on. However, we would not have been told that berried holly branches, when displayed in the windows of the Manor, would create an almost impenetrable barrier to uninvited guests of the Dark.  
  
"And this'll really stop them?" asked Hermione, holding a branch down as Ron sawed through the base.  
  
"It will indeed," smiled Merriman, stacking some of the branches. "Olde Magick was a very hit-and-miss affair, some of it being discovered by trial and error, but the vast majority by accident. This is why the very old spell books you have no doubt seen were so thick - they were simply a rambling collection of a Witch or Wizard's accumulated knowledge. At Yuletide - the period around the winter solstice - the Holly comes into its own power which extends about thirty days either side of this event. Today, as it happens."  
  
"It's the winter solstice today?"  
  
Merriman nodded. "We are on the magical high ground, so to speak, here at the Manor. Directly under the centre point of the main hall there is an intersection of no less than seven ley lines, six of which reach their apogee around this time, also."  
  
By this time Harry and I had meandered over with Draco and Will, loaded with Holly. Monty had suddenly proved exceedingly useful: A couple of sharp gnashes of his jaws later and branches of some considerable size were liberated from their trunk.  
  
"There's that number again," I said, having overheard the tail end of the conversation. "What is it with six anyway?"  
  
"Again, this harks back to many ages ago. You might have heard the old English folk song 'Green Grow the Rushes'? As ever, the meaning behind the song has fallen out of living memory but stirs enough within us to remind us of what once was. The lines have become obscured over the years, but some still ring true:  
  
"'One is one and all alone and ever more shall be so': The one, the singular. The smallest unit if you will. One is one, however we must remember that more can become one, and in doing so exceed the sum of their power.  
  
"'Two, two, the lily-white boys, dresséd all in green, oh'.Two - the fundamental pair. Two people in a relationship. Two hands, two eyes - it represents an extremely close, complimentary bonding.  
  
"'Three, three the rivals'. Not immediately obvious, this one: Initially you'd have thought that there were two rivals - the Dark and the Light - but in reality there are three: The Dark, the Light, and everyone else who is unaware of the other two. Due to fear of the unknown, 'everyone else' is inherently an enemy of the other two, whether they know it or not.  
  
"'Four for the gospel makers' - again obscured over time, the native faith of this country believed in four great Lords of the Watchtowers that guarded and arbitrated over the four corners of the world. In a more practical sense, the four points of the compass, the four phases of day, the four seasons and so on. Also a pair of pairs:: four people stood back to back can observe, and hence protect themselves from, any potential foe on any angle of attack.  
  
"'Five for the symbols at your door' - one that has stayed accurate: You'll notice five runes carved above the Manor's main entrance. These provide one of the oldest forms of ward against Bane, or mal intent.  
  
"'Six for the six proud walkers' - That's you. Such was the renown and extent of your predecessors, the Circle has been immortalised in folk lore.  
  
"The rest are reasonably self explanatory, but you get the idea."  
  
"Now if Professor Binns had told us even half of this we might have been able to stay awake for more than five minutes," smiled Draco.  
  
"It's human nature to forget the past, especially memories concerning things that we fear or don't understand. Take the second world war for example: We all remember who won simply because it is agreeable to do so, and hence the memory is perpetuated. What we will do - and indeed presently are doing - is starting to forget the unimaginable cruelties, pain and suffering that had to be endured in order to attain that goal."  
  
"Was the second world war anything to do with the Dark?" asked Will.  
  
"I would dearly love to say it was, however you have to remember that both the Dark and the Light are a part of us all, no matter how minuscule one of those parts may be. As such, even without intervention from the Dark itself, the human race is capable of inflicting terrible hardships upon one another. Anyone can turn to the Dark, but likewise anyone can also turn to the Light. It is all a part of the inherent concept of free will, and of choice."  
  
==========  
  
That evening, the Manor was looking wonderful. Holly adorned the windows as well as being liberally distributed in various arrangements, coordinated by Lady Greythorn and Hermione who despaired at us "boys - you have no sense of decoration whatsoever!"  
  
A large Christmas tree was conjured up and lavishly decorated, and was placed at the far end of the main hall. The two enormous fireplaces that flanked the tree had been built up with huge Oak yule logs (cut earlier that day during the Holly harvesting) and were set ablaze by a couple of thoughts from Harry and myself.  
  
Accompanied by Draco, we then went outside and willed into existance a suitably large snow-cat to help transport those who couldn't make it to the Manor under their own steam and, not too long after we were finished, the first guests started to arrive.  
  
It was decided that Harry and Ron would stay out of sight on the first floor of the Manor and watch the accumulating people in case they happened to spot any familiar - albeit unfriendly - faces. Will and Hermione manned the doors, cordially greeting people, but never actually inviting them in.  
  
Draco and I manned the snow-cat and trolled off round the village, picking up old ladies and young families alike. An hour and a half later, there must have been at least a couple of hundred people in the Manor. Once we'd unloaded, Draco and I slipped up to the first floor to join Harry and Ron.  
  
Hawkin was in his element, elegantly whisking between the crowds with trays heavily laden with hot mince pies and double cream, mulled wine and sherry. The hall was alive with conversation, punctuated regularly with cacophonous laughter from one quarter or another.  
  
Soon, though, Merriman (in his Bob guise) took to the floor dressed in his trademark black, but with a very large red Santa's hat on his head that continually slipped over his eyes which caused great hilarity amongst the children that had rapidly formed a couple of lines at the front of the crowd.  
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he boomed waiting for the hundred or so conversations that were underway to die down. "It is my great privilege and honour to be Master of Ceremonies this evening at Greythorn Manor. Please do not feel guilty about eating and drinking as much as you feel you can, as I personally have already allocated myself enough to pickle my liver three times over."  
  
A chuckle went up from the majority of the adults.  
  
"I feel it only fitting that we start the evening with a Carol. Do we all know 'The Holly and the Ivy'?"  
  
There was a reasonable response in the affirmative. Not good enough for Bob, though, who really was in his element. Quite how he and Merriman were one in the same person evaded me, such was the contrast between their personalities, but either way he was doing a grand job of raising the spirits of the crowd - exactly what we were out to do.  
  
After a truly wholesome "YES" from the throng on the third attempt, Merriman - sorry, Bob - beckoned to Hermione.  
  
"Miss Granger, if you please,"  
  
"What's she doing?" hissed Ron into Harry's ear.  
  
"I dunno... Look - she's going over to the piano! I didn't know she could play!"  
  
"Neither did I," replied Ron, sounding quite put out.  
  
After a couple of bars' introduction, the carol began:  
  
"The holly and the ivy, When they are both full grown, Of all trees that are in the wood, The holly bears the crown: O, the rising of the sun, And the running of the deer The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the choir..."  
  
"D'you know, that carol never really made sense to me until now..." I whispered to Harry.  
  
He thought for a moment before a broad smile crossed his face.  
  
The four of us sat on the balcony sang along to the varied carols until yet another one revealed a meaning I'd never considered before:  
  
"'Sire, the night is Darker now, And the wind blows stronger: Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.' 'Ark my footsteps good, my page, Tread thou in them boldly: Thou shalt find the winter's rage Freeze thy blood less coldly.'"  
  
As if on cue the wind, which had until now almost completely died down, very suddenly picked up, rattling the windows in their aged frames. Such was the force that the front doors blew off their catch, flying open with a bang as they hit the walls either side.  
  
A whirlwind of snowflakes spiralled in, whipped up from outside and blasted against the congregated villagers, lowering the temperature to below freezing almost instantly. As quick as a flash, Bob pranced round the outside of the hall to where Will had taken refuge behind the Piano. He said a few words into his ear before helping him up and leading him through the crowd into the centre of the hall.  
  
The wind grew to an order of magnitude I'd never before experienced, the howling and whistling becoming almost painfully loud. Harry had grasped my hand and was hanging on as if for dear life. Ron had almost immediately leaped up and charged down the stairs, almost taking off due to the enormous up draft, but just about managed to hold his footing to make his way to Hermione.  
  
Draco looked on, gripping the railing supports so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He watched as Bob ushered the crowd away from Will slightly, leaving him stood, eyes closed, in the middle of the room, directly on the centre of the huge seal in the stone floor.  
  
Harry had turned to look out of the window, and pulled on my arm to get me to look as well. Arranged in a crescent formation on the front lawns of Greythorn Manor were a tightly packed row of figures - thirty or more - stood with arms outstretched towards the Manor itself. In the centre of the crescent was a figure mounted on horseback, wearing what looked like a huge mask with a pair of antlers stretching haphazardly towards the sky.  
  
Even in this situation I couldn't help thinking that in the daytime that costume would have looked totally ludicrous but now, at night, it chilled me to the bone.  
  
"Liam! Harry!" Shouted Draco. "Look at Will!"  
  
We turned to see the wind-borne snow that had been blowing haphazardly around the hall forming a vortex around Will, almost as if it was being sucked into the ground around his feet. This effect was growing stronger, the wind now barely making it around the room but instead being directed straight towards him. As we watched, mouths open, the effect Will was having grew stronger still, now causing a negative pressure within the room making my ears pop.  
  
The yule fires either side of the tree were sucked from their very grates, skipping over the floor to join the vortex around Will  
  
Outside, the Dark Rider and his minions could tell something was wrong and attempted to redouble their attack, but with little success. Instead, they found themselves being pulled forwards towards the Manor doors - towards Will.  
  
The horse whinnied as its hooves failed to find purchase on the snowy ground and bucked, causing the Dark Rider to be thrown to the ground. As this happened, the others lost confidence and stopped their attack, one of them rushing to help their leader.  
  
All eyes turned to Will again. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he strived to control whatever he was about to undertake. Moments later, my ears popped again as the room pressure returned to normal. It was deathly quiet, the gathered people huddling to the sides of the room, snow scattered all over the floor and Will stood on his own in the centre of it all.  
  
For a few agonising seconds, Will stood alone on his spot in the centre of the hall as the few remaining snowflakes settled to the ground. Outside, the gathered assailants also stood uncertainly, not knowing exactly what had happened.  
  
Suddenly, all eyes were focused upon Will once more. Carefully but purposefully, he lifted his arms until they were directly above his head. He stayed like that for a further moment before suddenly throwing his head back and screaming. A huge volume of air exploded from his position, the pressure wave it created being enough to knock Draco, Harry and myself off our feet, along with the majority of the assembled crowd.  
  
Unbelievably, the fire that had been pulled from the grate was projected back towards it, though amplified greatly, burning the huge oak logs to ashes within seconds. The fire, seeking escape from the confines of the hearth, was driven up the huge chimneys and out into the sky, temporarily illuminating the scene outside.  
  
The front windows of the Manor exploded outwards, propelling lethal shards of glass and splintered holly driven at incredible speed by the shock wave into the Rider's minions, sending all of them flying backwards and out of sight.  
  
Seconds later, the wind stopped as quickly as it had started, leaving Will panting in the centre of the room. Draco, still feeling winded from the blast, struggled to his feet and half ran, half tripped down the stairs and over to Will, hugging him tightly.  
  
A whistle went up from a corner of the room. We looked over to see Bob. He waved a holly branch and then pointed at the windows. The blast had, quite understandably, demolished the windows and the holly branches behind them.  
  
A few minutes later, replacement Holly adorned all of the windows, even if they were missing the glass. The people, still huddled in clumps where they'd been knocked off their feet, began to pick themselves up one by one, dusting themselves off and whispering hurriedly to their neighbours.  
  
Bob resumed his position in front of the now-horizontal Christmas tree as Harry, Ron, Hermione and I did our best to get the thing upright without the overt use of any more magic.  
  
Somehow Bob's calming tones managed to restore moderate calm and, after Hawkin had double-timed it round everyone with renewed supplies of mulled wine, egg nog, sherry and the odd cup of Horlix, the singing began once more.  
  
Harry and I found Draco cuddling Will to him on a sofa in the corner under one of the huge staircases.  
  
"Whatever that was, Will, it was absolutely brilliant!"  
  
Bob sidled up a moment later and removed his Santa hat that he'd somehow managed to keep a hold of.  
  
"That was wonderful, Will," he smiled. "And only you could have done that."  
  
"What was it he did, exactly?" asked Draco, still looking concerned.  
  
"He put the three-fold law into practise," smiled Bob. "It's an ancient rite that refers to the idea that anything that you do - good or evil - will be returned to you three times over. As belief in this law of nature has wained, so has its effect, unless it's invoked by one naturally attuned to the ways of the Earth."  
  
"Will,"  
  
"Exactly. As he was also standing on the ley line intersection, this effect became about as strong as it could be. By attacking Will, the Dark was as good as attacking Mother Earth herself, and she doesn't take too kindly to her children doing that. You must remember, however, that the Earth loves all her children and hence doesn't keep scores or take sides: If we do something to cross her, she will exercise her wrath upon us also. But for the moment, at least, score!" he grinned, then realised the end of the carol was approaching and sprinted back off to guide the villagers.  
  
From the hall, Bob's Elven voice rang out true and clear once more, this time in song:  
  
"I'll sing you one, oh!"  
  
"Green grow the rushes, oh! What is your one, oh?"  
  
"One is one and all alone and ever more shall be so!" 


	17. Operation Ding Dong Ditch

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK  
by Meta4  
  
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:: Operation Ding Dong Ditch  
  
The following morning, the Circle sat in the Greythorn Manor library with Merriman and Lady Greythorn. The guests had been offered a bed for the night (willing a hundred or so into existence was quite a sight, but one that none of them were allowed to witness) and about half of them accepted, the others being escorted home by Ron, Hermione, Harry and myself.  
  
Will had fallen asleep on Draco's shoulder soon after the singing stopped and had remained asleep until a half-hour or so ago.  
  
"So I'll just call you 'Storm' from now on, shall I?" I grinned as Will tentatively sipped at a cup of sweet tea.  
  
Merriman smiled at the scene, then excused himself and slipped out and down into the main hall.  
  
"I s'pose so," Will smiled back. "That felt so strange - the more the Dark tried to attack, the angrier I felt. When they stopped, I could literally feel the retaliation growing in me - it was really weird... I just knew that I couldn't have stopped it even if I'd wanted it to."  
  
"Why did you cry out?" asked Draco, still not totally convinced that Will was fine.  
  
"Anger, I think - both my own and the Earth's. It's as if it considered the Dark's troops like a naughty boy that needed a spanking - not really angry, I suppose - more annoyed and disappointed in them."  
  
"Shame on you, rider with the silly helmet and pointy antlers - come here and be spanked!"  
  
"A present for you, Hermione," said Merriman, re-entering the library and carrying the charred remains of one of the Yule logs from the fires down stairs.  
  
"Uh, th.. thanks," she stammered, hurredly putting down er own cup of tea as Merriman conjoured a sheet to cover her lap before handing her the log.  
  
"Break it open," replied Merriman, resuming his position by the fireplace.  
  
By now this had piqued my interest and so, like Harry and the others, I was leaning forward to get a better view of the charred mess on Hermione's lap.  
  
Not really knowing where to start, Hermione took either end of what was once a rather substantial Yule log and twisted, causing it to break in a cloud of carbon dust. Amongst the random shaped shards there was a much larger, circular piece. Hermione took this and found that the outer roughness soon gave way to a much smoother, more precise shape.  
  
As she continued to work on it, the appearance of delicately cut, polished wood appeared. It was a ring of wood, approximately three inches in diameter and around a half-inch thick, with its centre quartered by a cross. As Hermione pushed the last remaining charred chunks away from the pristene surface, she gasped as she felt the Sign grow warm in her hand.  
  
"Wood from the burning," said Merriman. "A very rare sign to find: beauty created from destruction. Now I hate to dampen down the Mirth," he continued, "but that was just the very tip of the iceberg. It was but an exploratory test - which we passed with flying colours, I hasten to add - by the Dark to see how prepared we were. Hopefully it will have shaken their confidence more than a little.  
  
"We know that they thought the Circle would not be in place by now, or at worst would be extremely weak. What they were not expecting was for a single member of the circle to be able to drive back nigh on forty of those in their service.  
  
"While they are regrouping - indeed quite probably reformulating their strategy in light of recent events - we must strike back at them."  
  
"Please don't think I'm being impertinent here, but how do you strike back at something that is intangible at best?" asked Draco.  
  
"In order to interact with the corporeal world, the Dark itself must take on corporeal form. Likewise, if we are to engage them in their non-corporeal form, we too must become non-corporeal."  
  
"You mean loose our bodies?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Essentially, yes."  
  
She swallowed.  
  
"It is a daunting prospect, I will grant you that, however it will come with practise. For the moment, though, I think Liam's plan will allow us to rescue those that the Dark is presently holding against their will."  
  
"Dumbledore and Colin?"  
  
"Absolutely. After this demonstration of our power, they will become a liability to the Dark and so we must move quickly."  
  
"Hold on a tic - my plan?" I asked.  
  
"I believe, Liam, you mentioned that you were rather adept at Ding Dong Ditch?"  
  
And so Harry, myself, Ron and Monty found ourselves in London, picking our way through one of the seedier areas of the west end.  
  
"Have you spotted anything yet?" asked Ron.  
  
"Nothing other than the scenes of a half-dozen rapes and an attempted murder," I frowned. "Christ this place is shit..."  
  
"I sort of expected the place to be in a slightly better area," grimaced Ron.  
  
"Makes sense, I suppose," mulled Harry. "I mean where better to hide something nasty than in nasty surroundings?"  
  
"Or perhaps it was the something nasty that turned the area into this shit-heap - one bad apple spoiling the barrel and stuff..."  
  
"True,"  
  
The little terraced houses looked as if they'd been on the Arizona salt flats during the testing of the H-bomb. Windows were broken and cracked bricks were covered in a blanket of soot.  
  
Suddenly I stopped and held my arms out to prevent the others from walking on.  
  
"Can you feel that?"  
  
"Feel what?" asked Ron.  
  
"This," I said, walking out into the road. I must've looked like a right prat stalking out into the middle of a road, waving my hands around with my palms face-down. But I could feel something there. Figuring that there must be a better way of finding the source of whatever I could feel, I stopped and concentrated on the road's snow-covered surface.  
  
Trying to tune my eyes to see whatever I could feel simply wasn't working until I decided to try looking 'either side' of the normal glows I could perceive. I gasped and jumped a foot backwards as a six-foot-wide band of intense green suddenly became visible to me. It appeared to be translucent, emanating from beneath the snow and extending to a height of about ten feet.  
  
It meandered slightly, drifting left and right, but appeared to stay within the constraints of the road or pavement.  
  
"What is it? What can you see?"  
  
"It looks like a path," I replied, taking a cautious step back towards the light. I gently extended my hand towards it.  
  
"Careful, Liam," cautioned Harry.  
  
"It doesn't feel bad. It feels... I dunno... This is going to sound so weird - it feels safe."  
  
"Safe?"  
  
"Like it would protect you if it could. It kinda feels a bit like Merriman."  
  
The other two approached, followed by Monty. Whereas they stopped slightly behind me, Monty pottered onward and walked straight into the green ribbon thing before I could stop him. As he entered, the green rippled slightly and he vanished, but only momentarily as, seconds later, he reappeared on the other side wagging his tail.  
  
"Well, I s'pose that proves its safe," surmised Ron. "Who goes second?"  
  
Harry stepped forward and walked into the ribbon, accompanied by a larger ripple this time, and vanished as well. Monty, visible on the other side, wagged his tail harder and dashed back, presumably to meet Harry.  
  
Ron and I then looked at each other and stepped in after him.  
  
There was a slight tingling sensation as we walked through the wall of green light. I stumbled as I did so as the ground was a good eight inches lower in here than the surrounding tarmac-and-snow combination. Instead of cobbles or paving, there was short cropped green grass. Also, the temperature was appreciably higher. Harry was stood with Monty in his arms, breathing the fresh air that made a wonderful change to the stagnant, carbon-filled atmosphere outside.  
  
"Where are we?" asked Ron.  
  
"I have absolutely no idea. It looks like we're exactly where we were, but in a different time or something..."  
  
"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel a lot better walking along here knowing that we can't be seen," replied Harry.  
  
"This is true."  
  
Looking back out of the path on which we were stood, the green glow appeared to be altogether less visible, but present nonetheless. The sense of security that the path provided lifted all our spirits, giving us confidence in the task we'd been set.  
  
We walked along far more quickly now, the soft grass providing a much better purchase than the rather treacherous snow-clad street. The odd person braving the weather quite clearly couldn't see us, allowing us to pass by without even a glance. One even crossed the street, appearing to us as they crossed our path as a rather blurred, semi-transparent spectre before emerging, oblivious, on the other side.  
  
"Is this what you can see normally, Liam?" asked Ron.  
  
Looking out through the light green wall of the corridor, anyone we saw was surrounded by their aura. I'd kept my glowievision thing turned on, looking for anything out of the ordinary. As he suggested, I looked through 'normally' and yet the auras were still their, albeit far less pronounced.  
  
"Yeah - that's it pretty much."  
  
"How do you read this? I mean work out what people are thinking or what they've done?"  
  
"I don't know, to be honest. I think it must just be an inherent ability or something."  
  
Soon we found the terraced housing opened out into a small industrial area with a litter-ridden green in the centre. Placed between two rather dishevelled factory frontages was a fairly large building that, in its day (which had well and truly passed) would have been suitably impressive.  
  
As it stood, though, with scaffolding obscuring the majority of its face and large "CAUTION: Danger of falling masonry" signs all over the place, it looked dishevelled and miserable, exuding the feeling of decay and abandonment.  
  
What really caught my attention, however, was the building's aura. A deep muddy red glow surrounded it, traces of which appeared to extend towards a particularly turbulent section of sky.  
  
"I take it this would be a potential for Dark HQ," said Ron, eyebrows raised in apprehension.  
  
"So what's the plan?" asked Harry.  
  
"Well, Ding Dong Ditch, I suppose."  
  
"You're just going to go and knock on the door?"  
  
"Don't see why not."  
  
"Wouldn't it be better to go under some pretence or something?"  
  
"Like what? I'm a bit young to be a postman..."  
  
"Pizza delivery?" suggested Harry.  
  
I thought for a moment and then grinned. "C'mon..."  
  
We walked on a little more until the house was just out of sight before stepping out of the corridor and back into real-time. The reassuring feeling provided by the corridor was immediately replaced by an equally strong sense of foreboding, causing me to stagger through shock momentarily. I took a deep breath and forced myself to overcome it, imagining I was projecting a bubble of anti-dark around myself. The pressure could still be felt, but at least it wasn't invading my personal space.  
  
"So, Pizza deliver boy, then?"  
  
Harry grinned and nodded.  
  
I willed one of those detestable 50cc scooters into existence (you know, the ones that sound like a wasp when you've tried to swat it and missed) and pulled on the crash-helmet.  
  
"Right, plan: I'll go up to the front door and try and deliver this pizza. I'll see if I can kick up enough of a fuss to distract whoever answers and then you two might be able to sneak in."  
  
"What if they let you straight in?"  
  
"Umm - dunno, guess I'll wing it," I grinned. 'Can you hear this?'  
  
The shocked look on Ron and Harry's faces told me they'd heard my voice in their heads.  
  
"How did you do that?" asked Ron, looking totally flabbergasted.  
  
"Like when I showed Draco those images of his dad," I replied. "You try..."  
  
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated.  
  
'...OU HEAR ME?'  
  
"Shit! Not so loud!"  
  
"Oh, sorry,"  
  
"Cool - dunno what range this'll have but it's worth a shot. Wish me luck,"  
  
I kick started the pissed-off wasp and gunned it, slithering off in the general direction of the house.  
  
"I really hope he knows what he's doing," said Ron as he watched me nearly come a cropper twice on the snow.  
  
"Mmm," agreed Harry, looking extremely worried.  
  
I polled up in front of the house and abandoned the scooter rather haphazardly. I pulled the extra-extra-spicy-with-extra-chillis-and-chili-sauce-and-anchovies pizza out of the bag on the scooter and loped up the steps to the front door. Seeing no doorbell, I decided to really get into the spirit of the bored-numb pizza delivery gimp and booted the door as hard as I could a couple of times. I was rather pleased I was still wearing my crash helmet as a chunk of mortar fell from somewhere above me and bounced off the fibreglass shell.  
  
There wasn't a lot of movement from inside, so I booted the door again, this time sending the lower panel flying into the house as my boot dislodged it.  
  
A moment later, there was the sound of a large bold being drawn back from its hasp and the door was opened.  
  
"What?" snapped a rather small, dishevelled man with mousy, stringy hair. I noticed that his little finger was missing from the first joint onwards.  
  
In the best east-London accent I could muster, I began the charade.  
  
"Pizza delivery for..." I consulted the label on the side of the box. "For Lord Vo.. uh... Vol-mee-dork, innit?"  
  
The man looked at me before trying to slam the door. I shoved a boot in the way, causing it to bounce back and glance him across the face. He staggered backwards slightly, allowing me to move forward to the threshold.  
  
"You lot in't fuckin' me arahnd like them last tossers wot I had to deal wiv," I continued. "Somebody owes me fifteen quid for this an' I ain't leavin' 'til I got it!"  
  
The little bloke grabbed the scruff of my jacket and, with surprising force, threw me back out of the door and slammed it. I landed on my back at the bottom of the steps, narrowly missing the scooter. For once, though, the snow did me a favour and cushioned my fall - I didn't want to give the game away by performing any act that might be considered magical.  
  
As quickly as I could, I picked myself up and charged back up the steps, planting my shoulder square at the seam of the doors. Thankfully, they buckled and I stormed into the building, sending the little guy flying.  
  
"Wormtail!" Hissed a voice from up the stairs that made me shiver involuntarily.  
  
"I apologise, my Lord," grovelled the man as he wrangled me into a headlock. "There is a muggle here..."  
  
"I do not have time for these petty disturbances. Throw him in with the others: I have a far more important task for you."  
  
"Yes, my Lord,"  
  
With a wrench on my neck that caused me to gasp as the helmet strap dug in, this Wormtail bloke dragged me across the entrance hall to a heavy-looking wooden door on the adjacent wall. He mumbled something incoherently before opening it and, taking me by surprise again with his strength, threw me inside. I landed with a clatter against a table, sending its contents a sunder.  
  
"FUCKER!" I yelled. "You want to be really scared now coz you're gonna be had up for GBH an' kidnappin' an'..."  
  
"If you want to live to take another breath you won't make another sound," Wormtail growled before slamming the door.  
  
I sat on the threadbare carpet in the semi-darkness for a moment, allowing my eyes to become more accustomed to it. The only light in the room was from a small open fire that was doing its best to try and combust a couple of water-soaked logs, hissing and crackling loudly as it did so.  
  
Panting after my tussle with Wormtail, I undid the clasp on my helmet and pulled it off, then raked my hair out of my eyes.  
  
"Mr. Blackdon," said a familiar voice. "It is most agreeable to see you again."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore!" I whispered back, now just able to make out his familiar profile in the chair by the fire.  
  
"Are you all right, young man? It would appear Mr. Pettigrew was more than a little heavy handed."  
  
"I'm fine, sir, fine. More to the point, how are you?" I asked as I moved closer.  
  
"While it is true to say I have seen far better days, I am fine considering the circumstances."  
  
"And Colin? Is he here?"  
  
"Yes," squeaked an extremely excited whisper from the opposite side of the hearth.  
  
"I am assuming you are here of your own choice?" asked Dumbledore.  
  
"Yessir - I'm hoping this is going to turn into a bit of a jailbreak."  
  
"Are you alone?"  
  
"No - Harry and Ron are outside, waiting for us. I thought that seeing as Voldemort knows both of them, it'd be better if I came."  
  
"Indeed, although I think you may have your work cut out for you."  
  
"Yeah, I can feel it," I replied. And I could - the whole room felt as if it was encased in something approximating a chainmail balloon: I got the impression that the harder you pressed on it, the harder it would press back. How to break it? Press harder than it can withstand.  
  
"Right, I'm going to try something here... You'd better come and stand by me: As the Bishop said to the actress - 'I don't know how big this'll get...'."  
  
Colin stood up and helped Dumbledore out of the chair. His face looked tired and gaunt as he got to his feet and, most damning of all, the omnipresent half-smile was missing.  
  
With Dumbledore and Colin flanking me, I closed my eyes, taking stock of the power that was generating the wards and enchantments keeping us prisoner. The power was confident. It was confident in that it could hold Dumbledore and a Hogwarts student. It knew it could do that.  
  
I, however, knew that it couldn't hold on to me. It wasn't expecting that, not in its wildest dreams. I smiled. I knew I could win.  
  
I constructed my Dark-B-Gone bubble again, this time extending it until its extremities were millimetres from the edges of the room. I held my breath and tensed myself up, feeling the power build within me. It soon reached the level needed to break the curses, but I let it build still further. Twice, four, eight times the power accumulated within me, and I'd have to say that the feeling of certainty that this would work was rather nice!  
  
I took a breath, realising that the power was mine to command. It didn't need taming or channelling - it was already mine, on tap to do my bidding. And so I bade it break the bonds of our incarceration. With an unbelievable bang, the room exploded away from us. The front wall was blown clean off the building, the scaffold webbing being thrown through the air as if they were drinking straws. The ceiling above us was blown straight up, crashing into the ceiling above it, through the roof and into the sky. The back wall disintegrated to gravel, peppering the opposing doors across the entrance hall and removing a large portion of the staircase.  
  
I took a moment to look around as the dust settled: The whole east quarter of the building had been destroyed, leaving a huge gaping hole where once a wall and a chimney breast had been. Also, the aura of that corner of the building had changed from its blood-red to a much more greenish hue, the ill-will having been well and truly dispelled.  
  
A blood-curdling cry went up from somewhere on the upper floor.  
  
'Harry, Ron - we need your help,' I called mentally. Immediately, they ran out from behind the building that was providing them with cover and helped Dumbledore and Colin out and over the rubble. As the five of us ran from the wrecked building, another screech went up. Still running, I turned to see a black, cloaked figure standing on the edge of the dismembered first floor.  
  
Without thinking about it further, I willed the roof to collapse, burying him in a pile of rubble, the house now so weakened structurally it began to fall in on itself. Within a few seconds, it was nothing more than a large mound of rubble.  
  
We continued to run, stopping only when we ran through into the corridor and vanished into non-time.  
  
Dumbledore seemed quite fascinated at the concept of a flying BMW and thoroughly enjoyed the trip back from London to Greythorn Manor. He was astonished to see the extent and severity of the snow, however I was just as astonished to see that it had actually stopped snowing. The clouds were there, but the snow itself had finally come to a halt.  
  
We flew over the city and into the countryside towards Surrey and Greythorn Manor. From the look of things, people were doing their best to pool resources and deal with the hardships of having the majority of their essential services cut off.  
  
A casualty of the snow that I had up until now simply not considered was the livestock. In places, we could see small huddles of sheep and cows doing their best to keep warm and find food, their farmers unable to reach them.  
  
Colin appeared to be unaffected by the whole experience, recounting the most irrelevant anecdotes at high speed to his captive audience, who were all doing their level best to block him out.  
  
Mercifully soon, we spotted the Manor and descended towards it, spiralling until we touched down in front of the grand property. It appeared that quite a few of the surrounding villagers had decided to repay Lady Greythorn's hospitality by clearing the driveways of the majority of the snow and hence we were able to actually drive up to the front door.  
  
Hermione, Draco and Will came dashing out to meet us, immediately interrogating us as to how we got on. There were broad smiles from both Hermione and Draco as Dumbledore climbed out of the car, shortly followed by introductions to Will.  
  
At that moment, Bob came prancing (the guy couldn't simply walk anywhere) out of the Manor, greeting Dumbledore with an extremely low bow and mischevous grin.  
  
"My my, Bob, you do seem to be extremely well travelled," chuckled Dumbledore.  
  
"I do get around," he grinned. "It's good to see you safe, Albus. If I might have a moment of your time?"  
  
"Of course, of course."  
  
Bob threw his arm around Dumbledore's shoulder and ushered him into the Manor, whispering animatedly to him, his free arm gesturing energetically.  
  
"Hi Will, I'm Colin Creevy," gushed Colin, eager to meet anyone who might stand still long enough to be talked at.  
  
"Hi Colin," replied Will as his hand was well and truely shaken.  
  
Colin's omnipresent camera (that had somehow managed to survive his ordeal) was produced and we were ordered to stand infront of the manor as Colin took a group photo.  
  
"You OK?" whispered Harry into my ear after Colin's flash had near-blinded us all for a moment.  
  
I squeezed his hand and smiled back at him. "I'm fine. You?"  
  
"Yeah. Ron?"  
  
"Mmhph?" he replied as he broke his kiss off with Hermione.  
  
"I think that's a yes," I grinned. "Fancy a cuppa?"  
  



End file.
